Accidental Redemption
by Evil Saint
Summary: BV... Two members of the mighty Iceling triad are dead by Saiyan hands and the last wants vengeance for his kin. Old enemies become new allies as the Special Forces prepare to defend the Earth and as boundaries shift, destinies entwine. Chapter11 now up!
1. GHOSTS OF THE PAST

I do not own Dragonball Z or any of the songs quoted throughout this story and I'm pretty sure I never will :'-( so this here is the only disclaimer for this fic. The non-DBZ stuff's mine though, so don't take without permission or face the wrath of Evil Saint…

MOHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

Ahem… Special thanks to Meliza Mac for beta-reading, to my sister, B-9, to whom I dedicate this story and my brother, who left me no choice but to get hooked on DBZ.

"text" speech

"_text_" thoughts

"**text**" emphasis

-------------- leaps in the timeline, crossing over to and from flashbacks, changes in perspective etc.

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**ACCIDENTAL REDEMPTION**

**By Evil Saint**

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**I. GHOSTS OF THE PAST**

--I lie awake on a long, dark night

I can't seem to tame my mind

Slings and arrows are killing me inside

Maybe I can't accept the life that's mine

No I can't accept the life that's mine

"_Twenty cycles..._" The young man sighed in quiet contemplation, staring through the opaque darkness of night as it spilled into his sparsely furnished bedroom.

This planet -- Earth -- had completed twenty revolutions around its star since the demise of his birthplace, countless light-years away. He could almost feel the orb spinning on its axis, hurtling through the void in a ceaseless race against the other bodies in the system as he lay motionless, wading wearily through the churning oblivion that was his memories.

His callused sinew cried out for the rejuvenating embrace of slumber, yet his mind refused to yield. His psyche had won the battle for consciousness a while ago, yet he was still struggling to escape the horrors that dwelled within the abominable realm of his dreams. His eyes, black as the night around him, skimmed his surroundings every few seconds, half expecting an obscured attacker to ambush him from the shadows.

The anguished alien had occupied these modest quarters for many months already, but they were still as strange to him as the day he took up residency. The guestroom of the Capsule Corp. compound was far more spacious than the cell-like lodgings he'd been accustomed to, leaving him feeling exposed rather than comforted.

He knew though, that his tension was unfounded. Logic told him that no one would harm him; that he was not in peril; but to him "peace" was nothing but a foreign concept, reserved solely for the natives of the blue-green sphere he now deemed his home.

"Home…" The simple word escaped his lips in little more than a jaded breath, yet it was loaded with all the fear and suffering, all the regret and seething hatred he'd carried with him since his youth. As the ghosts of the past continued their maddening procession through his thoughts, his mind paused to once more relive the day he became an outcast in the Universe, forever robbed of a place to belong…

-------- ------

"_We should've left by now. What's the hold up?_" The small boy thought to himself as he lay stretched on his bunk, scowling at the familiar metal walls and ceiling that surrounded him. His jet-black hair was spiked away from his little face in a military fashion and his midnight eyes were a perfect reflection of the desolate abyss of deep space, looming beyond the porthole of his compartment.

A blood-red planet drifted ominously in the distance; the menacing colour serving as a warning of the dangers that lurked on the harsh, unforgiving surface.

Although the child couldn't see it from the confines of his chamber, he was well aware of the majestic mass floating off the port bow of the galactic battleship that had housed him for most of his young life. In truth he was thoroughly acquainted with it.

He knew that the planet was called Vegeta and that it was revered as mother to the Saiyan people: A warrior race as violent and raging as the volcanic terrain of their homeworld. He also knew that most of the ship's passengers were less than thrilled with their close proximity to a world teaming with a bloodthirsty species -- whose infant offspring were powerful enough to slay entire armies -- yet **he** was not afraid…

The scarlet crest that adorned the breastplate of his battle armour was in fact the royal seal of the Saiyan King himself and the boy was none other than the crown prince, sharing the name of the planet his ancestors had ruled for over three millennia. Within the bowels of the Li Narag however, Prince Vegeta's title held very little authority. In accordance with a treaty his father had signed with the owner of the vessel, he was in effect little more than a slave awaiting his master's bidding.

The reason for the regal child's servitude was a complicated matter, founded largely in the Universal truth that no mortal power is absolute.

The mighty Saiyans had reigned unchallenged as the supreme conquering force in the Universe, ever since the birth of the Planet Trade. They had a hard-earned reputation for being cruel and took pleasure in flaunting their inherent brutality as they enslaved thousands of defenceless worlds, priding themselves upon their savagery. They prized strength, pride and discipline; disregarding "weak" sentiments like pity, tolerance and mercy. In short, they were a wave of devastation and no one held the strength to stay them… until one fateful day when the shifting tides of power gave rise to a being far more heinous and fearsome than the combined potency of the Saiyan arsenal...

The Iceling known as Frieza had appeared as though from nowhere and his armies descended upon the galaxies like a plague of locusts, leaving nothing but smouldering ash and ruin in their wake. Those who dared to oppose the reptile's escalating power were maliciously subdued until all resistance had been crushed into dust beneath his murderous wrath. There were even rumours that whole planets had been demolished, decimating all of their inhabitants in one fell swoop.

The people of Vegeta had heard the whispers of the monster's abilities, but the Saiyans were an arrogant race and none believed that a force existed in the Universe, capable of threatening their formidable stake in the balance of power. Thus, when Frieza commenced his long awaited onslaught against the might of Vegeta, the Saiyans did not hesitate to unleash their own armies in deviance against the lizard's advancing horde.

It was a clash of unprecedented proportions as the titans of the Universe collided in a vicious battle for dominance. The war raged for days upon the barren wastelands of space as wave after wave of avid Saiyan warriors ploughed through the terrified legions sent to overthrow them. The Saiyans were merciless in their assault on the Iceling's soldiers, slaughtering their foes like cattle and screaming out their bloodlust as they feasted on the charred carcasses of the fallen. Their victory seemed immanent and the fighters were confidant in the belief that the people of Planet Vegeta had once again secured their position at the top of the Universal food chain, when without warning, Frieza himself decided to join in the carnage.

The troops had no chance to prepare themselves or even comprehend their doom as the serpentine mutant discharged his unfathomable power upon the Saiyan regiments, stripping flesh from bone as a colossal ball of pure energy engulfed them. The agonising cries of the dying battle-kin were swallowed up by the swirling light until nearly all had been extinguished, leaving only a handful alive to give testimony to the unholy power they had witnessed.

In a last-ditch effort to save his people from total annihilation, King Vegeta entered into a cooperation agreement with Frieza, effectively placing all of his planet's resources and citizens -- including his young son -- at the Iceling's disposal.

A little over four years had gone by since that catastrophic day and, as was his routine, the little prince was once again preparing to toil within the pitfalls of slavery after a brief return to the pedestal of royal grace that was his birthright. His father's contract had reduced him to a common purger of the Planet Trade and aboard Frieza's accursed ship he was less than vermin. It was the life he had grown into and at his tender age he hadn't had the chance to learn of anything else. His body and mind were those of a young boy, yet his eyes were cold and drained of the innocent wonder of childhood, projecting a spirit already hardened by the atrocities of his daily life.

Threatening to destroy his father's kingdom was the pallid Iceling's favourite method of keeping the Saiyan child in line and he never missed an opportunity to fuel the boy's anxiety. Thus the prince did not like Frieza being anywhere near his home and as always, he was rather anxious to have the venomous viper out of Planet Vegeta's domestic space. Vegeta waited impatiently for the ship to set sail, trying anew to get used to the smell of decay that fumed from every square centimetre of the Li Narag, while occupying his thoughts with solving the mystery of his parents' peculiar behaviour prior to his departure...

He'd been awakened early that day by the servants charged with getting him ready for his return to Frieza's service. The prince hated these preparations, knowing what would soon follow, and coaxing the little warrior into cooperating was a hazardous undertaking, always leaving several of the attendants confined to regen-tanks. After two tedious hours of arguing and hurling energy balls at the underpaid staff, he was finally dressed, fed and waiting in the palace's courtyard for the unfortunate soul burdened with escorting his aggravated self to the docking bay. His mood was worsened by the fact that for the first time since enlisting in Frieza's army, he was denied the opportunity to say goodbye to his father, due to some "urgent matters of state" that demanded the king's attention.

Prince Vegeta stood poignantly on the terrace with his arms crossed, pouting at the ground as the hopelessness of his situation weighed heavily upon him. The lack of the king's habitual words of encouragement intensified his frustration and the boy had every intention of taking it out on the poor soldier assigned to chaperone him to the spaceport. He was expecting to be accompanied by one of the usual elites in his father's Royal Guard, but surprisingly his mother had been the one to come see him off, at once banishing his father's upsetting absence to the back of his mind.

Being the crown prince, he was hardly privileged to social interaction with his mother and thus her morning visit was a highly irregular occurrence. It was common knowledge that he'd been conceived in a Petri dish -- as had generations of his forbearers -- and he hadn't had any contact with her outside of receiving training and tuition in military strategies.

His limited socialising with his maternal parent was not without good reason, if more for the king's sake than the prince's. It was a precautionary measure implemented on the grounds that Saiyans were innately monogamous and formed extremely powerful dependencies upon their chosen mates. Some couples even became so reliant on the mutual ties with their spouses that the loss of one would inevitably lead to the death of the other.

Naturally, the addictions of the Bond, as it was called, were ill suited to sovereigns and such unions were outlawed for Saiyan monarchs. The temptation of taking a soul mate was palliated by minimal exposure to appealing candidates and the provision of sizable harems of exotic pleasure slaves as distraction. When the time came to produce an heir, the most powerful fighter of the appropriate gender would be identified by the High Council, the needed genetics would be deposited at a laboratory and nine months later a child would be "born" without the parents ever having so much as exchanged pleasantries.

Prince Vegeta's mother was a particularly temperamental female by the name of Ti'elra, daughter of General Zendrak of the Veirex Clan. She was small by Saiyan standards, but her power was unrivalled amongst her peers. She had sleek, pitch-black hair that was always fastened into a tight braid to keep it out of her way. Her features were unusually soft for a Saiyan woman's, yet her fighting spirit was as rough as any of her kinsmen. Her skin was an even bronze and her brown eyes were like those of a hawk -- always alert and always on the lookout for potential prey. She was an elite warrior, a militarist, and her every action was marked by iron self-control, which made her behaviour of that morning all the more befuddling…

They hadn't spoken a word during the flight to the docking bay, but aside from his mother's presence, the circumstances of the journey were nothing out of the ordinary. It was still very early when the regal pair landed at the boarding dock and they were the first to arrive, affording them some unheard-of privacy. It was then that Ti'elra bent down before her son in what he first believed to be a formal show of respect. However, instead of reciting the Mantra of Allegiance, she put one hand on his shoulder and stared into his face as though she had never laid eyes on him before, gently wiping an imaginary smudge from his cheek with the fingers of her free hand.

"Be brave my son. This nightmare ends soon," was her cryptic farewell, before she did something no one in his living memory had ever done before: She hugged him. He was startled when her powerful arms and tail encircled his body, but once he gave in to the security of her embrace he did not want her to let him go ever again. He mimicked the gesture, locking his wrists behind her neck and wrapped his tail around hers, his head resting against the reassuring warmth of her chest. He couldn't understand why he was so deeply affected by this unfamiliar contact between him and the stranger he knew to be his mother, or why his eyes were suddenly burning with tears. The two stayed entwined in each other's arms for a long moment until they were interrupted by a group of approaching soldiers, also underway to Frieza's ship. Ti'elra pushed her son away quickly, smacking him hard across the face when she saw his tear-stained cheeks.

"Princes don't cry!" She snarled, but he noticed that her voice was cracking slightly and that her normally sharp eyes were clouded with emotions of her own.

"Yes ma'am." He answered, saluting the woman by way of greeting and gathered up his belongings, before walking in the same direction the other soldiers had gone. With one last look over his shoulder he boarded the transport pod destined to carry him back to his own personal hell…

His train of thought was suddenly derailed by a loud, obnoxious hammering on the closed door of his cell. Vegeta jumped at the sound, but his fright was quickly relayed into anger.

"Fuck off!" He yelled defiantly at the ceiling, not even bothering to face the door as he spoke in the cultured language of a pirate's ship. At that, the door flew open to reveal a very large purple-scaled alien that Vegeta presumed to one of Frieza's elites.

"The Emperor wants to see you brat. So if you know what's good for you, you'll loose the attitude -- pronto!" Frieza would only have him summoned for one of two reasons: Either he wanted to brief him for a mission or he was looking for a sentient punching bag to pass the time and under the present circumstances it was depressingly unlikely that he was being called for purging detail.

With that in mind, Vegeta stifled a groan of dread and swung his legs over the side of the bed, gathering his faculties to face whatever the sordid mutant had in store for him.

"_Be brave my son. This nightmare ends soon._" His mother's words kept sounding in his head as he followed the elite through the endless labyrinth of passageways that wound like arteries through the mammoth ship. Once they reached the main chamber, he struggled to keep his trembling under control, trying hard not to scare himself unnecessarily with images of the torture he expected the Iceling to inflict on him.

"Get in there!" The guard ordered and yanked open a heavy door, shoving him haphazardly into the room on the other side and closing him in with a loud thud of metal as the door slammed shut.

Inside, the prince was greeted by a sight that made his stomach turn and his chest clench with abhorrence: The lifeless forms of many Saiyan elites lay strewn across the main deck of the battleship and the entire hall was painted with their blood. A few metres in front of him lay the limp body of a man he immediately recognised as the Saiyan King and he felt his knees give way as the ghastly scene knocked the air from his lungs. He'd seen enough death to know when he looked upon the face of it and he knew that his father was no longer among the living, yet in that instant he couldn't bring himself to accept it. He crawled over to the mangled body and frantically began tugging at the royal robes.

"**Father! Father wake up!!**" He screamed hysterically, oblivious to blood pouring over his hands from his father's wounds as he shook the prone figure with all the ferocity he could muster.

Slowly, a shrill manic cackle filtered into his ears and when Vegeta looked up, it was directly into the face of the demon he knew to be his father's killer. The boy unhanded the dead king and calmly rose to his feet, his eyes burning with fury as unbridled, crimson hatred bloomed within him. Like his mother, the prince was short for a Saiyan, but at the age of six his height was already level with the Iceling's diminutive stature -- proving that, like poison, the most potent of evils was indeed housed in a tiny container.

What possessed him to attack he didn't know, but at that moment he was so overwhelmed by mournful rage that he was completely blinded to anything that didn't include avenging his father. With a guttural cry Vegeta lashed out with every ounce of his power, flailing himself full force against a long despised adversary.

The prince's outburst could've levelled a solar system, but Frieza deflected his assault as easily as though it were nothing but child's play. The tyrant humoured the devastated boy by remaining on the defence for a moment, allowing him to vent his anger slightly, before launching an attack of his own.

Vegeta was caught in mid kick when the barbaric lizard turned, backing into the motion and struck upwards with a short, perfectly judged elbow smash that drove deep into the boy's lower ribs. The crack of splintering bone resounded through the chamber as the force of the blow sent the young Saiyan flying into the inner wall. He impacted close to the roof of the craft, rupturing his body further before the artificial gravity drew him down with a vengeance. Instead of hitting the floor however, his stomach connected with Frieza's crushing knee just as the Iceling brought his interlaced hands down in a savage, clubbing strike on the back of Vegeta's neck. Then Frieza was gone as quickly as he'd appeared, leaving his battered opponent to fall to the ground, writhing in pain.

"Well Lord Frieza, it looks like you were right about the little monkeys after all. Perhaps it would be best to exterminate them now before they become even more of a nuisance." Vegeta heard a toneless voice speak from the corner of the chamber and noticed for the first time that Frieza's generals, Zarbon and Dodoria, were also present in the room.

"Indeed Zarbon… --sigh--… it seems they leave me no choice." The reptile said with mock regret.

"… Hear that Vegeta? You've been a very naughty little simian and I'm going to make sure you learn your lesson once and for all." Vegeta's head was pounding and he was disoriented form his injuries, but he had no trouble decoding the mayhem in the Iceling's voice.

"… Dodoria, make sure he pays attention." Frieza ordered his grotesque ogre-like henchman, as he sauntered casually over to the large transparent forcefield that made-up the entire outer wall of the chamber.

Dodoria carried out his orders, promptly strutting over to the defeated prince and hauled him up roughly by the red cape of his royal armour. The boy didn't bother to struggle as the disgusting troll dragged him over to Frieza, murmuring unintelligibly under his breath. When Vegeta and his captor reached the lizard's side in front of the invisible shield, he raised his eyes to look upon the vermilion globe of his homeworld, now drifting in line with the sadistic serpent's ship.

Vegeta was expecting to be beaten to death and his eyes drifted shut as he serenely anticipated the condemning blows, but instead of striking him, Frieza began to speak in a relaxed -- almost nostalgic -- tone.

"Ah the Planet Vegeta, beautiful isn't it? The Ruby of the Universe. Capital of the mighty Saiyan Empire... I almost regret having to destroy it." The Oozaru within Vegeta stirred upon registering the apocalyptic words, bringing the young Saiyan back to his senses.

"**No! No!!**" He screamed as adrenalin pumped through his veins. Vegeta had witnessed the genocide of enough civilizations during his years in Frieza's employ to know that the reptile was not bluffing. Forgetting his injuries, the prince struggled frantically against Dodoria's iron hold, which only clamped tighter against his efforts. The boy watched in terror as the Iceling extended his index finger, holding it up against the forcefield that separated the inside of the ship from the harsh climate of deep space.

"**No! Please Lord Frieza! Please don't!**" He pleaded desperately as a violet ball of energy formed beyond the vibrating barrier, growing exponentially by the nanosecond into a gigantic mass of malignant chaos.

"I have to make you understand my little monkey prince. I own you. Everything you have belongs to me and **you have nothing that I cannot take from you!**" Frieza ranted, laughing excitedly as he gathered the energy needed to exterminate the bothersome apes that had been a thorn in his side for far too long. When he had gathered a sufficient amount of energy he flicked his wrist, letting his laughter escalate into bloodcurdling screeches of aberrant abandon as the monstrous power went flying on a direct collision course with the awesome homeworld of an ancient warrior race. The helpless prince looked on in silent horror as his kingdom was shredded at the seams, consumed by the fire of demonic justice. Within mere minutes Planet Vegeta and its people were gone without a trace of proof that they'd existed at all -- save for a little boy who remained to preserve their legacy...

At that moment the entire hall became engulfed in a flash of gold as something like the wall of a mighty dam broke in Vegeta's soul. He felt a primordial pent-up energy surge through him, elevating him to a powerlevel he didn't know existed. He didn't question the source, or whether he could control it. All he knew was that the power was his and that he wanted to use it, regardless of the ramifications. With an almost feral roar he sprang free from Dodoria's grasp, flinging the general aside like a rag doll to crash into his teal-skinned comrade, before turning his newly discovered strength on an incredulous Frieza.

The chamber filled with blinding light as Vegeta's energy seared its path across the deck, cremating the remains of the fallen Saiyan warriors and sending Frieza tearing through the sturdy alloy of a bulkhead as if it were paper. Time stopped for the orphaned prince as he dove after his foe, his body coiled like a spring in anticipation. He leapt forward, his hair a golden blaze around his head with fire in his emerald eyes, and closed in on his target.

The lizard was still being propelled through the air, gravity nullified by the energy's force, when the Saiyan attacked. Within a fraction of a split-second Vegeta was upon his enemy, extending his arms in an imperceptible forward punch that struck the Iceling full in the face, sending him careening to the ground with a loud thud that rocked the entire ship.

The boy emerged panting form his assault and watched with wondrous amazement as a thin stream of indigo blood dripped from the dumbstruck Iceling's mouth, but before Vegeta could make another move the power became too much and to his chagrin he lost his hold on it, feeling it slip away to leave him empty and exerted. He fell to his hands and knees, completely exhausted and then consciousness abandoned him.

He awoke some time later on the floor of the brig, bound tightly at his wrists and ankles with the snake himself standing guard. He couldn't believe that he was still alive after the stunt he had pulled. When he questioned Frieza about it, the lizard informed him that death would be an easy escape and that he deserved to suffer for his insolence... And suffer he did.

It took ninety-four hours in a regen-tank for him to recover from the beating Frieza had given him as punishment for his gall, but that night when he returned to his putrid accommodation he was far from broken, for he was a boy with a mission. He had drawn blood from Frieza -- only a miniscule amount of blood, but **blood** nonetheless! That proved that the Kold Emperor wasn't indestructible.

Even young as he was, he had the mind of a sovereign and he knew what needed to be done: He had to distance himself from his pain and forget his loss, burying it forever in the sands of time. Sadness and mourning were distractions that he couldn't afford. What mattered now was his own survival and for that he needed the strength and the focus to dedicate his every waking moment to the Legend alone. The child had gotten the smallest taste of the fabled power of his forefathers and one day he would harness it. Then the treacherous reptile would pay for his crimes against the prince and people of Planet Vegeta…

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The memory was more bitter then sweet, but the image of the vile Iceling's surprise as he landed that one crushing punch was enough to make Vegeta snigger in satisfaction. He had come a long way since then and so much had changed. He'd been rid of Frieza's bonds for nearly two years and he'd accomplished a great deal in that time, but all his feats seemed so meaningless when measured against his inadequacies.

What did it matter that Frieza's generals were rotting away in hell by his hand? What was the point that he'd reduced the Li Narag to rusting chunks of space debris? Where was the glory in single-handedly scattering the monster's armies like dust in the wind?

The fact remained that when the chips were down, he had not been the one to end the Ice Emperor's reign of tyranny. He had failed to claim his revenge and in his failing he became subject to the humiliation of being surpassed by the lowly son of a third-class soldier. His lineage should have sealed the Legendary status as his alone, but by some cruel mockery of fate it did not. By a flaw in the Universal design the right by blood which he had fought his entire life to claim had eluded him until now, only to be handed down like some cheap trinket to an unworthy peasant who hadn't even been raised according to Saiyan traditions!

But even this paled against the paramount dishonour that permeated his entire existence, tainting not only himself, but his very bloodline, past and future -- should he ever breed.

It was a disgrace he hadn't even been aware of until his predestined death at the Iceling's hands. Moments before his passing a veil lifted from his eyes and he saw his life for what it truly was: A waste -- nothing but an honourless, disgraceful **waste**. Not because he failed to save his world or protect his people; not because of servitude or degradation; not because he wasn't strong enough to kill Frieza when push came to shove and not because he'd been bettered by a soft-hearted commoner…

No, his true shame was that throughout his trials and tribulations he had somehow lost himself along the way to embody that which he despised most: He had become the Saiyan incarnation of Frieza himself, and in that lay his greatest failing of all.

He sighed deeply, as though trying to gather his pain in the centre of his chest and expel it in a single outward breath, staring at the pristine white walls of his room, shaded grey in remnants of the night. He didn't understand why the powers that be chose to grant him another chance. Perhaps his dying repentance hadn't fallen upon deaf ears and Kami took pity on him in his forlorn state. The thought made his upper lip curl in self-disgust.

"_It wasn't enough for my death to be pathetic; it had to be pitiful as well!_"

Still, deep down he had to acknowledge that he was grateful for his new lease on life, regardless of the reasons for its granting and he was determined not to squander his opportunities as he had the first time around. This time he would not shrivel up and die! He would fight the odds, and this time he would win.

He was no longer driven by his quests for immortality or Universal domination -- those were Frieza's aims, not his -- but Vegeta's ultimate goal remained unchanged and he was seeking it with renewed vitality.

The prince was stronger now than ever and he was so close to breaking the barrier that separated him from the prophesised power that he could practically taste victory. Soon he would personify the Legend of his ancestors, shaking off the shackles of his past and then he would undo his failings. Then he could fulfil the vow he had made all those years ago and he would settle the debt he owed to his people; to his family; his father; and most of all to himself. He would become the Super Saiyan and finally be free of his limitations and his shortcomings… Free of ridicule and pain… Free of the history that haunted him…

"_Enjoy your supremacy while you can Kakkarot, it won't last long._"He thought -- more to himself than his Earth-reared rival -- giving him the final motivation he needed to pull his nude form out of bed. He headed for his closet and threw on his training suit, hell bent on continuing his bone-bruising ascent up the evolutionary ladder.

His purpose of old shone within him like a beacon of hope as he stepped out onto the balcony of his second story bedroom, allowing the fresh air of dawn to caress his fatigued muscles for a moment before summoning his energy to drift gracefully over the ledge and down to the lush green lawn of the Capsule Corp. gardens. He marched over to the spot where a space pod with a Gravity Training unit had been secured for his use by his hosts -- Dr. Briefs and his genius daughter who also happened to own the multi-billion zenni Capsule Corporation.

He punched in the security code that unlocked the pressure-sealed hatch of the craft and went inside. There, he moved to the control panel of the gravity simulator, setting it at 350 times Earth's normal gravity and immediately immersed himself in his rigorous training routine; illuminating the darkness within; buying temporary reprieve from the recollections that wracked him.

-- 'Weathered' by Creed

Next Chapter: Introducing Dr. Briefs' "genius daughter."


	2. BON VOYAGE

Just a reminder that this is an Alternate Universe Fic -- that means NO Future Trunks and NO androids! Special credit goes to Meliza Mac and SSJ NaCoBe for beta-reading and thanks to everyone who took the time to review Chapter1, I really appreciate it. There's some very mild citrus in this one, but nothing serious yet... Enjoy!

**ACCIDENTAL REDEMPTION**

**By Evil Saint**

**II. BON VOYAGE**

--When dreaming I'm guided through another world

Time and time again

At sunrise I fight to stay asleep

'Cause I don't want to leave the comfort of this place

'Cause there's a hunger, a longing to escape

From the life I live when I'm awake

The robust cords of his muscles bunched and relaxed in the hypnotic opus of kicks and punches, blocks and leaps he'd rehearsed uncountable times before. His every motion was graceful, poised, controlled... and undoubtedly deadly. His lack of rest was evident though, as he spun around in the nick of time to avert a high-powered ball of his own energy, fired back at him by one of his mechanical opponents. Sweat glistened on his statuesque figure, forming little rivulets on the olive skin of his bare chest to take on the appearance of blood in the red light of the GT-pod. He continued to push himself to his limits and beyond, completely unaware of his awestruck audience gazing in from the other side of the dome that had become both fortress and prison to him...

Beyond the pod the world was calm and cheery, filled with the scents and sounds of summer. A light breeze tamed the rising heat as the morning sunshine glittered appreciatively over the silky, sea-blue tendrils of a young woman, peering in through a small circular window at the tumultuous atmosphere raging inside the spacecraft. The muscles of her slender legs stretched beneath the material of her blue jeans as she stood on tiptoes to improve her view of the determined warrior, threading masterfully through the combat robots' attacks.

The girl had seen these manoeuvres on many prior occasions, but the Saiyan's physics-defying strength, speed and agility still caused her sapphire eyes to widen in amazement. His inhuman power was made all the more spectacular by his humanoid appearance. His dark, spiky hair, sharp profile with regular, humanlike features and normal -- if somewhat brawny -- Homo sapiens frame, made it easy to forget that he was in fact an evil alien prince who originally came to Earth to purge it of all life. In truth, the only hint to his extra terrestrial origins was a hairy brown tail, tucked securely around his sculpted waist as he blasted a custom-made training drone to scrap while avoiding its counterparts' rapid retaliation.

The battle robots' AI network was quickly coordinating their efforts and the woman looked on as the prince emerged crouching from a set of evasive gymnastics, instantly launching a thick ray of energy to thwart the united assault. Vegeta's blast collided with the five smaller beams to form a large ball of spiralling electricity, crackling in the centre of the room. The spectator backed away slightly, covering her face with her forearm to shield her eyes from the blinding light as the energy inside the pod rose to a critical level. Suddenly the air was ripped by an ear-splitting eruption as the shockwave of an earth- quaking explosion blasted the girl off her feet and sent her rocketing backwards.

The next thing she knew, she was laying on her back, pinned underneath a massive sheet of mutilated metal that blocked the sun's rays as well as the ton of debris that had landed on top of her. Confusion consumed her for several seconds before realization hit, understanding leading the way for the dreadful feeling of stone cold terror. She concentrated for a moment, abnormally attuned to the strangely soothing sound of her heart thudding against her ribcage as she wriggled each of her limbs in turn within her crypt-like confines, making sure that they were still in working order. She enjoyed a brief instant of relief, finding that she had suffered only minimal injuries, but she had no way of knowing how long her good fortune would last, listening to her shield creaking under its load while dents sagged horribly close to her abdomen and shoulder.

Dirt and blood were clogging her eyes and her skin burned from the scraping of imbedded shrapnel. Her body ached from her rough impact while the weight of the rubble steadily closed in on her from all sides, like a gauntlet of twisted titanium. Her fear was quickly escalating into full-blown panic and in her desperation she began to claw frantically at the bending shell as it threatened to become a tomb. She filled her lungs, attempting to call out, but her cry cracked into hacking coughs as she choked on the clouds of dust swirling around her head.

Would anyone even hear her scream?

She had no idea where Vegeta was or if there was anything left of him at all. If the Saiyan was dead, or more likely unconscious -- as he'd been the last time he obliterated the pod -- no one would find her; not until it was too late...

"_Please Kami, don't let me die... not now... not like this._" She prayed, the tears of despair running in small furrows through the accumulated filth on her porcelain features as the darkness closed in to bury her -- when a miracle happened...

Though the blackness remained, the pressure melted away as if by magic, leaving her with a sensation of weightlessness akin to floating through a starless night sky. For a second time relief washed over her and her tears of hopelessness transformed to those of gratitude to the old guardian for answering her plight. She tried to take a relieved breath of sweet fresh air, but instead her nostrils were flooded with thick, earthy liquid!

She jerked in shock as she realized that she was no longer trapped beneath the wreckage of a ruined spaceship, but completely submerged in very deep, murky water. She didn't know which way was up or down and her lungs felt like they were about to burst as she floundered through the inky fluid, searching in vain for any sign that she was heading toward the surface. Her sneakers were heavy with water, drawing her down like anchors and her limbs had turned to lead -- her nerves seemingly unwilling to relay her brain's instructions to continue swimming. She felt her body sinking, powerless to continue struggling against her watery bonds, but instead of panic or resistance, she found herself enveloped in serene resignation as she drifted down to the bottom of the great abyss...

And then she felt it: a sudden pressure had settled around her waist -- almost expectedly -- as two steely arms wrapped around her from behind, guiding her upward at a staggering speed. Within seconds, she and her saviour broke through the water's surface and she inhaled the delicious oxygen in deep, greedy gulps before her torso contracted in a fit of coughs, her chest burning as she dislodged the water that had found its way down her throat. When her body calmed and her breathing steadied, she was stunned to find that she was hovering high above the vast expanse of a glimmering lake, cradled protectively against a warm, hard chest. Her jeans were saturated and the fabric of her T-shirt clung to her like a second skin, causing her to shiver against the air currents as she lifted her head to see the face of her Samaritan.

By some tear in the fabric of time, the light was already making way for the advancing darkness; the sun seeking refuge behind the curve of the earth as ghostly shadows fell across the unmistakable visage that met her eyes. She looked up at him with familiar acquiescence and he smiled down at her -- not his patented sardonic grin, but a real kind and gentle **smile **as he met her gaze through the burning cabochons of his eyes.

The Saiyan was no longer dressed in the specially designed, energy resistant black bike shorts and trainers he'd been wearing while she was watching him exercise in the GT-pod. In their place was the combat uniform he had on the very fist time she ever saw him. The dark-blue bodysuit, white chest plate, gloves and gold-tipped boots were exactly as she remembered; only not dirty, torn and broken as they were the last time he'd worn them. In fact, the whole outfit appeared to be brand spanking new, nicely rounding off his image as a night in shining armour.

"You saved me." She stated in breathless wonderment, taking in the sight of the magnificent man holding her in his arms. The prince said nothing, but bowed his head in a silent promise that he always would, seeking out her lips with his own to claim her mouth in a ravenous kiss. She closed her eyes in anticipation of his sweet caress when...

"**Wake uuup West City!**" A boisterous male voice suddenly bellowed from all sides, ripping the woman from her romantic bewitchment as her eyes flew open with a start.

"... It is now 7a.m. on this beautiful Saturday morning and this is your Greek Daddy, **Schweet Papa G**, coming at you from your favourite station..."

Bulma Briefs -- brilliant engineer and heiress to the Capsule Corp. billions -- groaned in displeasure as she reached over to her nightstand, her fingers fumbling in hot pursuit of the clock-radio's "off" button. Once the booming voice of the WCFM disk jockey was silenced, the young woman rolled over on her luxurious bed and burrowed back under the covers. She hated getting up early on weekends, especially if it meant interrupting the best part of a rather perplexing dream that had been haunting her ever since Vegeta's return to Capsule Corp.

It was always the same, frighteningly vivid scenario: she'd get caught in some kind of trouble -- lately her subconscious seemed to favour a re-enactment of the GT-pod disaster, though the water was a constant -- and at the last minute Vegeta would show up like the proverbial prince charming and rescue the damsel in distress. Normally, the whole "helpless female" scene would've made her gag, but disturbingly enough, she found herself secretly looking forward to her night time rendezvous with Saiyan aristocracy.

Maybe she was suffering from delayed Stockholm-syndrome...

She didn't have time to dwell on dreams however, as real life obligations beckoned her attention. She sighed and reluctantly relinquished the fading vestiges of her reverie, tossing back the blankets to face the new day. She had to hurry up and get ready to drive her parents to the airport, which was the point of Papa G's early intrusion in the first place. Dr. Briefs was off to Africa for the next three months to oversee the incorporation of the company's new diamond mining division and naturally he wouldn't dream of leaving his lovely wife behind. The thought caused Bulma to screw up her face in a pained expression as she dragged her stiff frame from the cosy comfort of her bed, the satin of her marshmallow-pink nightdress hiking up her thighs as she stretched to relieve the tension. Thinking of her parents' trip made her stomach lurch for two rather daunting reasons.

One: Amidst heavy criticism, her father had insisted that **she** take over his responsibilities as acting CEO during his sojourn abroad, because -- as he'd put it -- it would give her "invaluable experience" for when she took over from him on a permanent basis in a few years time.

Two: For the next quarter of a year, Bulma and "His Royal Highness" were going to be the only permanent residents of the huge Capsule Corp. estate.

Both prospects were simultaneously exciting and unsettling, but she found the butterflies fluttering in her stomach on account of the latter to be slightly larger than those brought on by the former. She trudged over to her vanity, relishing the feel of the thick, cream-coloured carpet beneath her feet and reached for the dressing gown that had been unceremoniously discarded over the back of the chair the previous night. As she tied the sash of the flimsy burgundy robe, she doubted whether Vegeta was even aware of her parents' trip -- not that he'd care if he was. He'd probably be glad to be rid of Mrs. Briefs for a while though.

The Saiyan would string himself up by his own entrails before admitting as much, but he was nothing short of terrified of her mother. Whenever the obtuse blond would enter his presence, he would scuttle to the opposite corner of the room, making sure to keep at least one piece of furniture between the two of them at all times. Her mother was quite clingy when it came to opposite sex, as any misfortunate male entering her territory soon came to realise. Yamcha, Goku, Krillin, Tien, even Piccolo... all of Bulma's friends were well versed in her mother's flirtatious nature and His Majesty was certainly no exception.

After dragging a brush through her hair in a failed effort to tame the rogue curls, Bulma strolled out onto the balcony she shared with Vegeta, deciding that since she was up she might as well take a minute to enjoy the fresh coolness of the early morning air. She smiled to herself at the memory of the prince's initial arrival at Capsule Corp. when she first informed her parents that a bunch of aliens were going to be staying at the compound. Her mother seemed fascinated by the Nameks until Bulma ushered the stoical Saiyan into the room for introductions...

She would never forget the look on Vegeta's face when Mrs. Briefs pounced on him, squealing in delight. He looked positively petrified for a moment -- like an animal caught in headlights -- but quickly regained his composure. Bulma feared for a second that he would eviscerate the asinine woman, but the worst he did was glare at her; though if looks could kill, Dr. Briefs would've been a widower. Bulma had to admire her father for putting up with her mother's quirks for as long as he had, but she assumed that **that** was the kind of understanding that could only be cultivated by years of marriage.

In Vegeta's case she couldn't exactly blame her mother though; he **was** cute! That was her incentive for offering him a home to begin with. Of course she wasn't thinking clearly at the time -- at least not with her brain anyway. She had just been whished back to Earth after her nerve-wracking excursion to Namek and there he was, looking utterly captivating. He was leaning against a tree with his arms crossed over his chest, a sultry smirk on his face and that brooding, I'm-better-than-you-and-you-know-it stare that she'd gotten so sickeningly used to over the past months -- although back then she though it was rather sexy... She'd gotten her IQ from her father; she had to inherit something of her mother's!

She hadn't seen Yamcha in months, counting her voluntary sabbatical from their relationship as well as the time he'd been dead at Saiyan hands, and by then, just about every man she met seemed to be oozing sex-appeal. All she saw before her was a devilishly handsome alien prince with nowhere to go and so, conveniently forgetting that he was a genocidal psychopath of galactic proportions, she invited him to stay.

Bulma wasn't sure if she'd ever see him again after his brusque departure following their unsuccessful attempt at returning Goku to Earth, but -- aside from her reincarnated boyfriend's objections -- she was strangely pleased when he did come back to the compound. Not that she interacted much more with him after his return than she did when he was in space. He was surprisingly self-reliant and she and her mother saw little of him. The only person he begrudgingly communicated with was her father and that was only when he wanted his training equipment repaired or upgraded. Most of the time though, he was quiet and kept to himself, disappearing every so often for days on end to Kami-knew-where.

"_What does he do when he takes off all by himself?_" Bulma wondered yet again, inhaling the delicate fragrance of a summer breeze, scented with the aroma of her mother's assortment of flowers blooming in the gardens surrounding the estate.

She knew it was probably a mistake, but she'd felt a great swell of compassion for the proud Saiyan Prince ever since learning of his troubled childhood. Initially, she had no idea that Vegeta had any ties to Frieza and lived under the assumption that the two were merely rival warlords, competing for control of the Cosmos. It was only after Goku's return that she learned the truth about Vegeta's past...

"_I don't have all the details, but from what I heard during the fight on Namek, Frieza was the one who destroyed Planet Vegeta. He had the Saiyans under his thumb for a long time before that, though. The way I understand it, Frieza took Vegeta away from his family when he was still a kid and forced him to fight in his army. Before he died, Vegeta said that Frieza threatened to kill his father if he didn't follow orders, so he did everything he was told, but in the end Frieza just killed 'em anyway and made Vegeta live on his ship as some sicko pet-project or something._"

The revelation still sent chills down her spine. She couldn't even begin to imagine what it must have been like to grow up under such hellish circumstances, but at least she finally understood why Vegeta acted so aloof and unfeeling all the time. Frieza was all kinds of evil and she didn't even want to think what sort of influence he'd have on a child's perception of the world!

Then the infamous GT-pod incident occurred and the task of nursing the overly ambitious warrior back to health had fallen to her, since he could hardly stand her mother and any other course of action would've raised too many questions to answer. Fortunately, the Saiyan's body proved to be profoundly resilient and he was bed-ridden for a meagre ten days due to injuries that would have killed another. In his weakened condition he spent a great deal of time sleeping though, and it was in that state of unconsciousness that she learned a few startling things about the resident royal.

He was constantly tormented by nightmares and the heart wrenching maelstrom of emotions that passed across his face pained her down to her very soul. There was anger, rage and hatred, but mostly there was fear and pain. He regularly mumbled words in a language she didn't understand, but from his tone and countenance it was clear that he was pleading rather desperately. She knew he was only dreaming, but the contorting of his facial features and the hopelessness of his voice were far too intense to be reactions to imaginary monsters and she couldn't help but wonder what in the Universe he could've experienced that would invoke such anguish.

She might soon find out though...

Leaning over the railing, she sighed wearily as her eyes drifted from the Capitol City towering in the distance, to the angry crimson light that danced through the portholes of the spherical structure on the grass below, causing her brow to wrinkle in a worrisome frown as she remembered the reason for its presence. There was a time -- not so long ago -- when such a scowl was foreign to her face, but that was before she learned of the various inimical alien races that shared the Universe with mankind. In fact, it was safe to say that nearly all her troubles were born the minute the first Saiyan scout set foot on her planet, catalyzing a chain of events that had cast a seemingly permanent shadow over her once sunny existence.

"Normalcy" had turned into a luxury for occasional enjoyment as was proven the day Frieza and King Kold perished at Goku's hands, spouting promises of revenge in the form of Koola, last overlord of the Frost Empire. No one wanted to believe that the nightmare wasn't over and Bulma was quick to arrange for the launching of several space probes, equipped with energy censors modelled after Raditz's old scouter, to call the lizards' bluff, praying that it was merely the idle ravings of dying dictators.

After only days of searching however, the long-range scanners picked up a terrible power -- at least tenfold greater than Frieza's -- on a direct path to Earth, confirming that the planet was indeed under threat by an entity strong enough to challenge even a Super Saiyan. Bulma's life was instantly hurled into disarray, dispelling the fragile sense of indolence the past year's peace had created as the recently resurrected Special Forces scurried to draw up defence plans and discuss battle strategies. After some negotiation it was decided that Goku and Piccolo would oversee Gohan's training in the forest near the Sons' house; Krillin would seek out Master Roshi's tutelage on Kami Island; Tien and Chao Tsu would prepare in the Northern Mountains and her beloved Yamcha would follow his own program while Vegeta agreed to use the GT-pod at CC. Everyone assumed that Nurami -- the last surviving member of Vegeta's culled crew -- would be training with him, but instead he gave her orders to join Gohan under Piccolo and Goku's instruction. The Namek and young hybrid seemed resistant to the idea, which seemed to have no true purpose other than placing a spy in their ranks, but trusting old Goku welcomed the alien girl with open arms before the others could raise any objections.

And so began the routine of vigilant preparation for the impending Armageddon between Earth's Special Forces and the last Ice Emperor, set to commence in an estimated twenty-nine months from the present. Bulma did what she could to assist Earth's warriors by providing them with data and equipment to hone their training, but for the most part, her time was spent trying to forget about the advancing menace and the prospect of dying young, envying the fighters' distraction of constant physical exertion.

Gone were the carefree days of her teenage years and her dreams for a rosy tomorrow. Now, speculation of the future was turbid and unpleasant, having become somewhat of a taboo subject in the Briefs household.

These thoughts pushed heavily on her heart as she abandoned the balcony and re-entered her room. She had no more time to fret. Her parents' flight was scheduled for takeoff at 8:45 a.m. and it was half an hour's drive to the Briefs family's private airport on the outskirts of West City, giving her only forty-five minutes to make herself presentable and polish off her last "Mom-made" meal for three months...

--------------

"Woman!" Vegeta yelled as he entered the house through the kitchen. He was thoroughly annoyed by this point. He'd been scanning the entire area within a hundred kilometre radius for Dr. Briefs' energy signature without success since late-morning and by mid-afternoon he could wait no longer. The lavender-haired old man had no powerlevel to speak of and he'd always been difficult to pinpoint in the sea of weaklings that populated the region, but that day he was proving more elusive than ever before. There were few things Vegeta disliked more than having to turn to the aging scientist's officious, loudmouthed offspring for assistance, but since her energy appeared to be the only one in detectable range, it seemed that he had no choice but to extract her father's whereabouts from her.

"**Woman!**" The Saiyan's gruff voice resounded through the mansion, bouncing off the walls and penetrating the closed door behind which Bulma was trying fruitlessly to decipher the reports for the coming financial quarter -- accounting not being her field of expertise. She was under a lot of stress and the sound of Vegeta's insistent shouting was tugging at the frayed edges of her last nerve.

"_Kami, what could he possibly want?_" Bulma wondered in irritation, snapping a pencil in half as her housemate's voice rose up even more demanding than before, this time from the vicinity of the living room. She snorted in fury, knocking over her chair as she sprang to her feet and stormed to the door of her personal study. If the wood were sentient it would've been shaking in fear as she grabbed the handle, yanking it open aggressively to stick her head out into the hallway.

"**What?!**" She bellowed back, her decibels matching Vegeta's as the volume of her reply echoed through the hall and down the flight of stairs to reach the alien's ears.

"Get down here! I have to talk to you!"

"You didn't say please!"

"**Do not try my patience, Woman!!**" Bulma rolled her eyes and grunted in resignation, reasoning that the sooner she complied with his demand the sooner he'd shut up. She stalked down the hallway to the top of the stairs leading to the ground floor, defiantly refusing to descend any further.

"Well?!" She inquired from her elevated position, standing akimbo while meeting the glare of the half-naked, sweat-drenched man scowling up at her from the room below.

"_At least you get some eye candy for your pains..._" Bulma thought mischievously as her gaze roved over of the Saiyan's regal physique, taking in the perfectly toned muscles rippling beneath glistening, bronze skin. The man was built like an Olympian god!

"Where is your father?" The prince barked, snapping the woman out of her trance.

"On a business trip to Africa."

"Ai'et gazan!" He cursed in his home language, gnashing his teeth disconcertedly as he considered the information.

"... When will he be back?"

"In three months."

"**What?!**"

"You heard me."

"Why wasn't I told of this?"

"I guess nobody thought you'd care."

"This is unacceptable! He has to upgrade the damned pod's gravity simulation and repair those worthless drones; I can't put my training on hiatus for **three fucking** **months!**"

"That pod was upgraded to 350 Gs three weeks ago! There's no way you'd be able to move with any more."

"Listen Woman, I'm not interested in your irrelevant opinions of what I can and can't do! Just get the old man back here before I decide to go to... Africa and retrieve him."

"No, **you** listen! The Earth doesn't revolve around your sick obsession with beating Goku and my dad has other obligations besides answering to your beck and call, so just chill out! There's no need to get your spandex in a twist though, 'cause **I'm **still here and **I** will fix the freaking drones and then **I** will see what can be done about the damned pod...** later**! Right now **I** have a business meeting to prepare for, so pipe down!" She admonished and pivoted on her heels, intent on returning to the incomprehensible stack of spreadsheets that seemed to be chipping away at the soundness of her mind, but not before punctuating her words with a final comment.

"... One more thing Vegeta..." She said, looking over her shoulder "... if you even try to harass me **or** my father about this, then so help me I will encapsulate that pod and you will never see it again, understood?" Vegeta opened his mouth to retort, but Bulma interrupted him before he could speak.

"... Threaten to kill me all you want, but we both know what will happen if you do, so just spare me the dramatics!" She closed her argument by turning her back on him and started moving in the direction of her study.

"Do you really think **Koola** will give a shit about your precious 'business' when he shows up?" Vegeta smirked as he played his trump card, stopping the woman dead in her tracks.

Bulma bit down on her bottom lip, running a hand through her frizzy hair at the grim reminder of the impending Iceling threat. She sighed in defeat and turned around, slowly retracing her steps to the summit of the stairwell to face the conceited Saiyan.

"Look Vegeta..." She began her pleading explanation, looking as rundown as she felt at that moment "... I get that your training is very important and all, but I'm under a lot of pressure right now. My dad left me in charge of Capsule Corp. while he's away and I wasn't what you'd call the conventional choice, so all of our shareholders and competitors will be watching and waiting for me to screw up. Kami forbid, but if I don't finish studying those financial reports in my office, I **will** make a mistake and the repercussions could be disastrous. Worst case scenario: I mess up so badly that our investors loose confidence in the company, withdraw their backing and we go under."

"And this is relevant to me because..." Vegeta asked in a bored tone, quirking a brow and tilting his head in a patronising manner.

"Because if CC goes belly up, **there won't be** a GT-pod for you to train in or drones to blow up! Is that **'relevant'** enough for you, jerk?!" Bulma screamed irately, his blatant indifference to the Corporation's prosperity making her blood boil once more.

Vegeta's grin turned to a frown as he realized that he didn't have a counter for her last rebuttal, but he wasn't about to let her have the final say. He growled as his energy rose to cocoon him in a faint blue glow, the power burning through his veins. One corner of his mouth twisted in a foreboding half-smirk as he watched the woman back away, the scent of her heightening adrenalin perfuming the air. Within an instant he dematerialised at the foot of the stairs to reappear behind the frail creature, the sudden gust of wind generated by his burst of speed wreaking havoc on the surroundings as portraits went flying off the walls and furniture toppled over from the force. Bulma would've fallen as well, but before she could register what was happening he grabbed her, covering her mouth with his left hand while his right clamped over her neck like a vice. Her small hands shot up reflexively to tighten around the wrist nearest her throat, but to no effect. If he was human, she would have been convinced that he was acting under the influence an unbearable fever, but he was Saiyan, and she knew that the intense waves of heat radiating from him were merely a result of the hyper-fast metabolic rate natural to his race.

"Do **not** test me bitch." He warned, his voice laced with malice as he spoke close to her ear, making her shudder. The moisture on his bare torso soaked through the back of her top as his chest pressed against her like an indestructible slab of heated granite, impressing upon her just how powerless she was to stop him if he actually wanted to hurt her. He chuckled at her sharp intake of breath as he directed some energy to the hand covering her throat, allowing tiny bolts of electricity to prick her skin -- keeping the voltage insufficient to cause damage, but high enough to get his point across. He buried his nose in her hair for a moment, savouring the smell of mounting fear seeping from her pores. It was a flavour he hadn't detected from her in some time and it gave him great satisfaction to know that he could still draw it out of her. He gave her neck a final scolding squeeze, enjoying her frightened whimper combined with the feeling of her pulse drumming harder against his palm and relinquished his hold.

Not wanting her to crack her skull falling down the stairs, he swung her around and pressed her back to the wall, steadying her against the gale before dissolving behind her and rematerialised in his original location in the living room.

"... You **will** repair those drones and upgrade that pod ASAP, or 'investor confidence' will be the least of your worries." He hissed, his gaze drilling into her through narrowed, tantalite eyes. He leered at her quietly for a second as if daring her to oppose him. When she remained silent, he smirked in victory and swaggered hauntingly to the kitchen, not even deigning her worthy of a second glance. Bulma watched him leave in mortified fascination, her eyes glued to his tail as it skimmed the air behind him in a few rhythmic sweeps before curling snugly around his waist as he disappeared through the door. It had returned with him from Hades and her mind automatically drifted to his body's inflamed response when she caved in to curiosity one day following the GT-pod accident and risked stroking it while he was in the throes of comatose slumber -- he'd surely kill her if he ever found out.

"_Depraved asshole._" She thought, giving herself a mental shake and exhaled forcefully through her nostrils, endeavouring to vanquish the warm tingling sensation, spiralling in the pit of her belly where there'd been fear less than a second ago. Gingerly, she sidled down the stairs and glanced around, assessing the damage to the living room and adjoining den before dismissing it. Nothing seemed to be broken and the servo-bots were already convening to clean up the mess.

Bulma flipped the absent Saiyan off for good measure and made her way back to the second story landing. She strolled dispassionately down the hall, heading to her room to change into her overalls. He'd succeeded in scaring her, but she didn't really take his threats to heart. Goku would rip him to bits if he ever acted on his words and Vegeta didn't seem the type to nurture a death wish. Nonetheless, she thought it wise not to stretch his restraint. She wasn't getting anywhere with the financial reports anyway and she could do with the diversion a bit of tinkering would provide.

One thing was certain though, if that little incident was to be a microcosm of the next twelve weeks... then Kami help her!

-- 'Higher' by Creed

Next Chapter: There's always room for one more Saiyan!

This update is for you Evening Lady! Thanks for the detailed review, it helped a lot. The lemon will come in due time --


	3. RADITZ' PROTEGE

Well guys and gals here it is at last. I just have to warn everyone that this chapter contains a graphic evisceration scene and a cursory reference to rape, so don't read it if you're squeamish about that kind of ting.

Give it up for Meliza Mac, SSJ NaCoBe and Kyra Fable who were kind enough to beta this thing and a big "thank you" to everyone who posted reviews for the previous chapters. It really is inspiring to hear that folks are reading this and actually liking it so **please** keep the inspiration coming!

**ACCIDENTAL REDEMPTION**

**By Evil Saint**

**III. RADITZ' PROTÉGÉ **

--Do you remember the stain?

Do you remember the pain?

Do remember who caused all the blame?

Do you remember me?

Do you remember us?

Do you surrender your dreams and your trust?

It was late in the afternoon and the shadows were starting to stretch across the landscape, creating merciful islands slightly milder in temperature than the lingering scorch of the sun's abating rays. Snow-capped mountains rose to the north with the swaying verdure of a rural forest begging sanctuary in their shade as the eye of heaven burned white from above. The single sound of a raptor's cry floated down from the highland and threaded through the trees on the back of the wind, serenading the resting training ground of a motley band of warriors bound solely by the tactical truth that one's enemy's enemy is your friend...

The small group was camped out in a clearing by the crystal water of a mountain spring, succumbing to the lazy atmosphere of high summer. The fighters were essentially done with their training for the day and, for once, they allowed themselves to simply trust in the serendipity, pledged in the languor of the ebbing heat.

Nurami sat on a boulder -- a safe distance away from the meditating Namek -- staring absently at Goku and Gohan as they wrestled feverishly within the depths of the pool. Her chest plate, flank guards and gauntlets lay discarded beside her in surrender to the sweltering humidity, leaving her dressed in the standard-issue black leotard and boots of Frieza's disbanded military. Her back was still sore from a particularly hard meeting with a cliff-face during the morning's sparring session and her long, wavy mane of bronze and gold was shifted aside, granting her fingers access to the bruised flesh. She'd already had two senzu beans in as many weeks, compared to just one for her tauntingly durable male counterpart and tempted as she was to ask Goku for a third, pride won over sensibility and she suffered in silence, not wanting to appear weak in the eyes of her ilk.

The girl's unruly locks shone as a bold beam of light peeked out from behind a lonely cloud, dancing over her shoulder and across her face, causing her amber eyes to flutter dramatically at the invading brightness. Languidly she shifted her position to halt the sun's assault on her retinas, still massaging her tender skin as her attention returned to her brethren's friendly ruction.

The pair was rowdy, even for Saiyans, and their seemingly limitless gusto never ceased to astound her. They looked more like brothers engaged in a rough bout of sibling rivalry than father and son and it was a marvel that neither had drowned yet. At that point in the fray Goku was trapped in a strangling headlock, coughing and spluttering as he struggled to keep his head above water. In turn, Gohan yelped in protest as his father's elbow repeatedly tenderised his exposed ribs. Neither was showing any signs of relenting however, and Nurami knew from experience that the fight would carry on until the opponents either got tired -- which could take hours -- or were distracted by hunger -- which would be a whole lot sooner considering their Vegetan roots.

Watching the two roughhousing, her thoughts strayed, taking a trip down memory lane to visit another ebony-maned Saiyan who had been so much like a father in her own eyes. A man who'd been dead for three years already; killed by the very people she was camped out with. She sighed sadly, her brow creasing as she felt the guilty resentment of old bubbling up inside her. They'd killed Raditz -- her liberator, her teacher, her friend -- and she was fraternising with them as if they'd committed no crime whatsoever!

The little half-Saiyan stopped kneading her abrasions and folded her arms over her drawn-up legs, resting her chin on her knees. The terracotta fur of her newly sprouted tail dusted abstractedly across the mossy rock she was perched on, her honey-hued gaze passing sightlessly across the scenery as the events leading up to her keeper's untimely death replayed before her mind's eye...

--------------

Saiyans weren't known for strong family ties, but blood tends to thicken when a man's entire word is incinerated in the blink of an eye. Raditz refused to accept that he, the noble, the royal and possibly her anonymous father were all that remained of their mighty genus and his ardour was unshakable in searching for other survivors.

It was during one such sleuthing for clues in the digital library of Frieza's ship that he stumbled upon the name of a class-five world, deep within the folds of "Dark Space" as the remote, untravelled reaches of the void were known. The relatively small planet, called Earth, had been marked for purging over two decades earlier, but there was no clearing confirmation on file.

The omission tweaked the soldier-turned-detective's curiosity and it was with mild interest that Raditz looked up the details of the team charged with terminating the planet's life forms. Great was his surprise when he discovered the name of one Saiyan infant, officially listed as missing in action only weeks before the Saiyan Empire went to war against Frieza. Landing logs were documented, meaning that the cub had reached his destination; yet the pod's scanners hadn't reported any significant changes in the world's ecology beyond the moment of planetfall. This puzzled the warrior intensely, seeing as the inhabitants of a class-five world were supposed to be virtually defenceless and incapable of mounting resistance against even the weakest Saiyan in his Oozaru form.

Intrigued, Raditz continued studying the information on the screen and his surprise quadrupled when he investigated the boy's genetic statistics and recognised the name of the brat's paternal parent as that of his **own** father: Commander Bardock of the Sheruak Clan! For several excruciatingly long moments, Raditz could do nothing but stare agape at the screen in front of him as his usually lightning-quick wit wrestled with the fact that the missing cub was none other than his long lost half-brother, Kakkarot...

Prince Vegeta was sceptical about the possibility of the boy's survival and would hear nothing of pursuing the information. Deep Space was a precarious place and brats were left at its nonexistent mercy during the long treks to their assigned worlds. It wasn't unheard of for babies to die on route to a mission after contracting some long dormant, abyss-bound virus through the craft's filtering system, or to asphyxiate due to life-support malfunction, or to fall victim to a variety of other misfortunes. The pods operated on the instructions of an automated pilot that would direct the ship to its destined coordinates as long as the vessel was capable of propulsion, regardless whether its cargo was alive or not, and Vegeta reasoned that the pod's successful voyage was irrelevant when the failed purge provided clear evidence of the cub's ill fate.

Fate however, had her own ideas and a fortnight after Raditz' find, Frieza set his sights on enslaving Ta'iu Vakhor -- the homeworld of a fierce race of shape-shifters -- and it wasn't long before the Saiyans were ordered to try and succeed where dozens of other squads had failed at the price of their lives. It was during the mission briefing at Frieza's main base on the frozen Tartarus of Dargad Prime, that Raditz grabbed his chance and risked life and limb to present the information about the missing cub to the Emperor himself. Putting his infamously sly tongue to good use, the soldier softened up the megalomaniacal lizard, stroking his ego with a few well-chosen words before casually noting how much easier it would be to conquer Ta'iu Vakhor **if** **only** a fifth Saiyan's fighting strength could be added to their ranks.

After much debate and teeth grinding from the prince, the third-class' arguments still managed to prevail and Raditz was given permission to track down the castaway. Vegeta was livid at his subordinate for going over his head on the matter and spitefully forbade Nurami to accompany him on the expedition. The prince ignored her iterations that her guardian might need backup, saying that the reptile granted Raditz alone leave to depart on the "frivolous waste of training time" and that he wanted her and Nappa to be in top shape when they finally went up against the Vakhoraji.

And so it was that she remained stranded at headquarters with reluctantly contained frustration while Raditz went off on what she believed to be a splendid adventure. She wasn't **truly** worried when he left, though. He was an expert space farer as well as a capable combatant with a shrewd head on his shoulders. Raditz had carried out innumerable reconnaissance missions in his life and she didn't doubt that he would return safe and sound, maybe even with a new comrade to welcome into the fold...

Several months passed without incident. Raditz was travelling well and making excellent time. It was very early in the morning, with the polar winds howling like spectral entities as they sailed across the frost-bedecked wilderness surrounding the base, when the transmission came: He had made landfall on Earth and was zeroing in on a power signature that was undeniably Saiyan in its magnitude. Despite the prince's initial condemnation of the search, the news sparked a rush of anticipation in the Saiyans' barracks and the cadre of mercenaries were out of bed and huddled together in a flash, hanging on every word spoken by their distant comrade.

Even Nappa who never expressed an interest in anything that didn't involve stuffing his face or bloody massacre -- which was often one in the same thing -- tuned in to his scouter com-link and in an uncharacteristic show of generosity the prince allowed Nurami to listen to the communiqués via his scouter, since her body count was still too low to "justify" one of her own.

They waited as Raditz sped through the air to the pinpointed area, unanimously holding their breaths in excitement as he closed in on the location. Then they heard Raditz' voice speak up, crisp and clear in the native tongue of the secluded planet, addressing whoever was present at his destination. It took a moment for their translator-implants to process the foreign language, but soon enough the peculiar audio emanating from the com-link mutated and morphed into sounds, then phrases and finally words that they recognised and the trio listened intently to the dialogue taking place hundreds of light-years away.

Lo and behold, Raditz had found the renegade Saiyan alive and well! But the man was claiming that his name was Goku and that he was a human, indigenous to the backwater world he was supposed to have cleared in infancy. From the heated conversation it was deducted that he'd reproduced, siring a half-breed with a local female and that the brat and a number of Earthlings were with him as several unfamiliar voices sounded in the background. The warrior's odd behaviour was finally explained as an insight from Raditz to query him about a possible head-injury uncovered the reason for the botched mission as well as the man's un-Saiyan attitude: He'd been knocked half-witted in a fall as a baby and the resulting amnesia had him living in blissful ignorance of his origins as well as the dark purpose behind his presence on Earth.

Kakkarot or "Goku" sounded deeply disturbed by the revelation that he was in fact a member of a destroyed race of destroyers and an alien to the world he knew as his home, but his reaction was nothing compared to Raditz' outrage at his brother's disgraceful renouncement of his heritage. For the first time in the three years Nurami had known him, Raditz was allowing his emotions to overrule the sharp methodical guile that had kept him alive for so long as he snatched up his still untrained nephew at a speed that had the humans gasping and cursing in horrified awe, saying that he would not allow the boy to go astray as his father had and that he would teach him the meaning of being a Saiyan. His brother wasn't about to let his son be kidnapped without a fight, though -- proving that he had some Saiyan spirit left in him after all -- and he set off after Raditz with an audible burst of energy, hell bent on reclaiming what was his.

For minutes on end the roar of the rushing wind was all that could be heard through the link -- aside from a sporadic sob followed by Raditz' growled exhorts "to hold still and shut the fuck up" -- as the Saiyan and his load raced back to the relative safety of his spacepod. They weren't destined to reach it however.

"**Let my son go!**" The maverick commanded, his voice thick with belligerence as he intercepted the other's course.

"I came here for reinforcements Kakkarot and unlike you **I** do not abscond from my duties!" Raditz sniped with equal scorn.

"... This planet is already dead! It's **long** overdue for purging and it's only a matter of time before the order is carried out. There is nothing you can do about that, but I'm offering you a chance to redeem yourself, brother; to save yourself and your son by enlisting with your own people and becoming the fighter you were born to be. Surely you wouldn't risk your own life and the life of your cub for the sake of these pathetic human-creatures?" Kakkarot gave no answer as another voice interjected before he could speak.

"This world will remain intact alien, and you **will** leave its inhabitants in peace or you will **not** leave at all!" A deep, even baritone met their ears, which didn't fit either of Bardock's sons, although both Saiyans seemed to know the speaker.

"**Piccolo?!**"

"**You?!**" This doesn't concern you friend, but if you have a death wish by all means, stick around!" Raditz' sibling sounded both glad and apprehensive at the newcomer's arrival, while a barely discernable hitch in Raditz' own voice told his crewmates that he was not as undaunted by the warrior's threat as he would've liked; although that didn't stop him from tossing away the crossbreed and lunging straight into bloody conflict with the two men anyway.

Nurami ended her staring-contest with Raditz' unused bunk and construed the faces of her comrades worriedly, feeling her stomach flip-flop with the terrible look of foreboding that met her eyes. Raditz was outnumbered three to one counting Kakkarot's brat, and though the scouter-transmissions showed that independently the fighters posed no threat, their combined strength could very well be enough to overpower the lone third-class.

The girl cast her gaze back down to a spot on the bed and listened quietly to the raging battle, powerless to affect the outcome.

It was hard to keep score with only muffled swearing and scuffling as indicators, but to Nurami's intense relief it sounded like Raditz had gained the upper-hand and was on the verge of levelling the playing field by sending his brother to the Next Dimension. She was about to breath an alleviated sigh, when symbols began to dance on the scouter's powerlevel-gauge as the up-until-then-fear-paralysed brat was abruptly galvanised into action. The sigh stuck in her throat when the reading concluded that the half-breed's rage-driven strength rivalled his uncle's and her canines sank painfully into the inside of her cheek, stilling her woeful howl as the cub turned his phenomenal energies full force against her unprepared warden...

The boy's temper tantrum was short-lived and his powerlevel fell again as quickly as it had climbed, but not soon enough to save Raditz. The damnable brat had managed to free his father and weaken Raditz sufficiently for the man to commit the ultimate act of mutiny. Grabbing hold of Raditz from behind, the traitor pacified the warrior long enough for his crony to power up and unleash a powerful energy blast that bore through Raditz first and continued to burn a hole through the younger of Bardock's children, fatally wounding both Saiyans in the end.

Nurami listened with bated breath, blinking back tears as the sounds of the battle died down; clinging to the childish hope that the gods would intervene and that Raditz would be alright...

But it was not to be.

Her blood ran cold upon hearing her guardian's wheezed plea for vengeance as he struggled to breathe, drowning slowly as his pulverised lungs filled with blood.

"Idiot peasant!" Nappa sneered unsympathetically, ripping the scouter from his ear and tossing it down onto his bunk before setting out in search of breakfast, leaving Nurami and Vegeta alone in each other's company. They stood in shocked silence, unable to face each other as they struggled to make sense of what had come to pass.

The prince had never been amicable in his dealings with his third-class subject, but through the years Nurami had sensed an unspoken brotherhood between the two men, an unlikely camaraderie forged from a common loss and a burden shared. For a single, harrowing moment after Raditz' voice had faded into eternal silence and only those of his assassins remained, Vegeta's mental walls faltered ever so slightly, letting her know that she was not alone in her grief...

--------------

Nurami was jolted back to the present by a miniature tsunami breaking against her bolder as Gohan came crashing down in the shallows a few meters from where she was sitting. She jumped to her feet, hissing like an angry cat as her blue and white combat boots were soaked with icy water. Her attention was quickly diverted from her footwear however, as a localised shower started pouring down overhead.

The girl's eyes shot up in fury to see her drenched fellow hybrid hovering right above her, utterly oblivious to her discomfort as he scanned the lake's surface for Goku's location, eager to get on with their scrimmage. With an irritated growl, Nurami manifested some energy into a baseball-sized orb in the palm of her hand and hurled it forcefully at the unsuspecting boy's back, the impact sending him stumbling forward a few paces in the air to drip over the lake instead of her.

Gohan whirled around in a defensive pose, startled by the unanticipated attack and looked around in confusion, searching for his assailant before his ink-black eyes met Nurami's furious golden ones.

"Watch where you're dripping moron, or I'll flay you alive and use your hide for a drying cloth!" She chided in her eerily inflectionless tone while gesturing to her damp clothes. Gohan, relieved that he was not under fire from some undetectable attacker, only stared at her unconcernedly. He'd gotten used to the girl's threats a long time ago and no longer paid them any mind.

"Sorry." He apologised quickly, before rocketing back to his father whose head had just re-emerged into view, probably to check the delay in his son's retribution. Nurami dropped back down onto the rock with an annoyed snort and flared her energy to rid herself of the unwanted moisture. Her gaze flicked skyward and she found herself unable to stop the small smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth as she watched the saturated pair now going at each other above water.

"_It would not be fair to judge them too harshly._" She conceded with a soft sigh. They were also of her sort and unduly generous to her. She had been living and training alongside them for seven months now and had become bizarrely at home with the odd triad, who less than two years ago had been her mortal enemies. Goku's light-hearted optimism was a balm to her worn-out soul, while Gohan had become a friend and kindred spirit she'd never hoped to find and for the first time in her life she was content.

She was still skittish around Piccolo, though. By now she was fairly certain that she didn't have to fear the green-complexioned alien, but his enigmatic immunity to her Xel Alar abilities sustained her caution. That was after all the very reason he'd come so close to killing her once before. Her features darkened slightly as she stole a glimpse at the seemingly oblivious goblin, coiling her tail instinctively around her waist as she recalled her hostile first encounter with the Namekian fighter...

--------------

The squadron had spent a year in stasis traveling to Earth, though to Nurami it seemed as if mere days had passed since she and her battle-kin had listened to her guardian's final moments over the scouter com-link. Leaving Frieza's base in search of Earth's wish-granting Dragonballs was a risky decision at best but the lure of power, profit and revenge was tempting enough for each of the three Saiyans to make it worth their while.

They had arrived as planned and were immediately drawn into a violent confrontation with the planet's Special Forces. Vegeta was in show-off-mode and had ordered her -- the weakest of his charges -- to take out the strongest of the human defenders.

She had yet to learn about the technique of sensing powerlevels without a scouter and relied greatly on her Sirithian side to give her an edge in battle. Nearly all of the girl's formidable psychic abilities were self taught, seeing how her mother, a Veshari priestess of the Order of Xel Alar, had abandoned her to Nuchraa slavers without any instruction whatsoever. As a result, Nurami was rather clumsy when it came to advanced skills, like mind reaping or securing long-range telepathic channels and she wasn't keen on in-depth mind probes either. Her lack of safeguards meant that the bridge could easily be crossed into her own mind and she simply didn't like playing with those odds. Not that she was too bothered by her shortcomings. Her mental powers were still superior to a decent majority of Universe's population and her deftness at reading an opponent's emotions -- a natural talent for anyone with Veshari blood -- worked well enough to identify threats and predict tactics.

She hadn't registered any strong feelings from the intimidatingly huge, emerald-skinned warrior and merely assumed that he wasn't particularly concerned about the fates of his allies; Vegeta and Nappa certainly couldn't care less what became of **her**.

"Might makes right" according to Saiyan belief. Hence if she didn't have the strength to hold her own in battle then she didn't deserve to live and she knew quite well that the two elites would happily watch her perish if she couldn't ward off the Earthlings' attacks. She had no fear of dying however, and she was certain that Vegeta and Nappa would be more than able to punish Raditz' killers for their audacity if she couldn't. Honour in death was after all a warrior's greatest achievement and for the lower caste Saiyans, that meant winning the respect of their superiors by showing bravery in battle...

She followed the prince's orders at once and commenced her assault, deciding to target a particularly nervous fighter first. The tall, dark and handsome human's fear was concentrated upon the adult Saiyans though, and he was not very intimidated by the tenuous, haggard-looking child when she first lunged at him -- the very reaction she'd been hoping for.

Her time as a prize-fighter in the Slave Ways of the Kilanrad galaxy, had taught her a thing or two about energy manipulation and she instantaneously suppressed her strength, intending to trick the Earthling into letting his guard down. But to her dismay, the human didn't seem very willing to fight her at all, and she was compelled to reveal more of her power than she'd intended, throwing several precisely calculated kick-punch combos at key areas of his body to coerce him on the offence. Nurami would've liked a bit of a challenge for Vegeta's benefit, but her misguided opponent persisted in his insulting attempts to pacify her with minor onslaughts. He was obviously blinded by the fact that he was fighting a cub and his stupid scruples just wouldn't allow him to inflict serious damage on her scraggly little frame.

Nurami on the other hand, had no reservations about the Earthling's imminent demise as she toyed with him amongst the clouds. She had always loved the hunt and drew out her pleasure by playing with her victim as a feline does with its prey before dealing the final blow. Each assault was a flurry of strikes and counters, a blur of weaving, swaying bodies as the girl dodged and parried most of the man's attacks. Using only basic kata-movements to keep the fight going, she danced around him like a ballerina, allowing the fighter his last moments on the mortal plain to revel in the fantasy of his superior strength...

Before long though, the Saiyan got bored with the little charade and as she swayed to turn a straight-handed chop to the neck into a glancing graze, the heel of her left hand drove up to feign a potentially incapacitating blow to the Earthling's throat. As anticipated, he swerved and reflexively brought his arms up in a defensive block, leaving his torso unprotected for a fraction of a second. Nurami took full advantage of the opening and at last revealed her true potential as she moved faster than lightning, drawing back her right arm and punching forward with all her might, implementing brute strength as her energy-shrouded hand slashed like a blade through cloth, skin, muscle and intestines to impale her opponent upon her outstretched arm.

Her movements were faster than the man could detect and she felt his confidence melt into abject horror when he saw that she had moved within centimetres of him without his notice. Nurami couldn't help smiling in amusement as the wet heat of the alien's organs pulsated against her fingers.

"_The damned fool is about to die and he doesn't even realise it!_" She though, sneering in victory and gestured with a nod of her head to draw his attention to the horrendous reality his shock-numbed nervous system seemed unwilling to acknowledge. The colour spilled from the man's face like water from a shattered glass when he saw her arm imbedded in his gut. He looked at her in disbelief and opened his mouth as if to speak, but instead of hearing what he had to say Nurami concentrated, channelling her energy into a ball around her immersed hand and let it explode inside the fighter's abdomen. The force ripped through his unshielded insides with the sickening squelch of tearing meat, blasting his body apart and strewing his cindered remains down upon the onlookers below.

She wasn't given much time to savour her triumph as a quick glance in Vegeta's direction told her that he approved of the bloodbath and wanted her to continue her campaign of devastation. She was still riding her murderous high and all six her senses were precisely aligned to serve her brutal purpose as she hastily examined the remaining Earthling fighters and decided to go after Gohan next. She knew that he was half-Saiyan, but her qualms about culling her peers were greatly overshadowed by her desire to exact vengeance upon her mentor's murderers and from what she'd heard over the scouter com-link, she believed the boy to be one of them. She opted for a frontal attack and screamed a bloodcurdling Saiyan battle cry as her power escalated to its highest level, preparing to charge in headlong in an effort to "scatter the herd" and isolate her mark.

She'd kept the true extent of her strength hidden from her adversaries while fighting their comrade and they clearly had faith in his ability to survive, not bothering to interfere in the battle. However, now that they'd bore witness to his grizzly fate, she no longer had the element of surprise on her side and had to be heedful of numerous warriors attacking in unison. The girl had scanned the reactions of the fallen fighter's battle-kin at the moment of his dissolution to foresee any attempts at reprisal and, sure enough, she detected a mixture of terror, disbelief, disgust and hatred from the assembled Earthlings -- with the exception of the Namek.

There was clearly no love lost between the green-skinned fighter and the rest of the Earth's Special Forces, leading Nurami to the conclusion that they were only fighting side by side to avert a common threat. She didn't expect the Namek to go out of his way to help any of the others and felt secure in the assumption that he'd leave her alone as long as she didn't tackle him head-on.

She made a grave mistake as she charged straight at the other semi-Saiyan, silver energy ablaze around her. She was cautious of the triclops and the bald, orange-clad midget, having received the strongest response from them at the other's death. She wasn't anticipating any reaction from Piccolo though, and failed to pay special attention to his movements as she prepared to make quick work of her second target.

The girl was totally bewildered when the huge alien suddenly fazed into being right in front of her, landing one of the most vicious roundhouse kicks she'd ever endured, full against her temple. The force of the blow sent her flying quite a distance before crashing to the ground and skidding to a halt several metres further. The impact left her dazed and she rose to her hands and knees, her eyes shut as she shook her head in a desperate struggle to regain focus.

Recovery was not a luxury afforded to her though...

"**Special Beam Cannon!**" The Namek's booming voice echoed across the desolate battlefield and her eyes flew open in panic with the realisation that she'd heard **that** attack announced once before... **moments before it killed Raditz!**

She wanted to scream, but was rendered mute as the charring-hot beam collided with her side, scooping her off the ground and launching her through hills and stone formations until she'd lost enough momentum to get pinned against a particularly stubborn spire.

Tears of agony leaked from her eyes as the smell of scorched synthetics from her rapidly dissolving armour mingled with the stench of singed hair and burning flesh as her tail -- which had been around her waist and directly in the line of fire -- disintegrated beneath the searing energy. The tables had turned and she gasped helplessly as the stream of light tore through her skin, melting away muscle and sinew as it bore into her from the side. She felt her strength disperse into the atmosphere through the growing wound, the rock-face crushing her mercilessly from the opposite side. The pain continued to intensify until it crescendoed to an unbearable level and her mouth filled with blood as she tried to voice her anguish. She fought to escape the encroaching darkness, but to no avail as her senses drained away, the pain receding as she slipped helplessly into the black oblivion of unconsciousness...

She awoke some time later in a sterile white room with a bunch of harassed-looking human physicians skittering about at her bedside. She was shocked to have lived past the Namek's attack and even more so that the Earthlings were treating her wounds, considering the circumstances of their acquaintance, but she quickly decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. For the moment her number one priority was to find her ship as fast as possible and get the hell off the planet! She was alone behind enemy lines as far as she could tell and she didn't want to tarry a second longer than she had to.

Keeping her eyes closed not to attract attention to her wakeful state, she tried her best to keep her fidgeting unnoticed, but as she reached down in search of her pod's remote controls she found that her armour had been replaced with an absurd excuse for a dressing gown and that all her equipment was missing. In true Saiyan style, rage instantly replaced prudence and she sat bolt upright, frightening a couple of nurses out of their wits, and demanded to know what had happened to her belongings and the rest of her crew.

The last vertical human fighter -- the short cue-ball called Krillin -- had apparently been appointed to guard-duty alongside a host of mechanised sentries and was fast to oblige, filling her in on everything she'd missed with a copious amount of smug embellishment.

Nurami took a slight jab to her ego when she learned that her survival wasn't wholly thanks to her own resilience as she'd thought, but due to a combination of force-fed senzu beans and a pack of rampant Saiba-men the prince had set loose on the Special Forces, distracting the Namek before he could finish her off completely. She listened disinterestedly as the compact male told her of his friends' eradication and described Nappa's damning defeat with an odd hint of solemnity in his voice before carrying on about how Vegeta had turned tail and ran after being beaten by the revived traitor and his half-caste spawn.

Having heard enough of the prince's humiliation much sooner than the human tired of telling about it, she forcibly steered the conversation toward the whereabouts of her ship, dreading the answer even as she voiced the question. And sure enough her fears were realised as the human informed her that Vegeta had activated the self-destruct sequence of her and Nappa's pods to prevent pursuit, thereby leaving her solidly dependant on the charity of Earth's denizens.

The obnoxious little alien seemed strangely affected by the fact that Vegeta had slain one of his own men, but the news didn't exactly shock her. Nappa had always been more trouble than he was worth and Vegeta had been looking for a reason to dispose of his so-called bodyguard for a long time. The man had the fighting power of a Saiyan elite, but lacked the intelligence to be truly valuable as an ally. His temper made him erratic and difficult to control and this resulted in the near ruination of many missions in Frieza's service, always leaving Vegeta to bear the brunt of the Ice Lord's wrath.

With the blundering slaughter of Earth's Nameks and the resulting disappearance of their wish-fulfilling orbs, a clash with Frieza over the last remaining set on the Namekian homeworld became inevitable, and Nappa's knack for disobedience instantly made him a liability in the eyes the young Saiyan Prince. Everyone who knew Vegeta knew that he was a firm believer in tying up loose ends and the execution of his former guardsman was merely that: a strategic elimination of an unfavourable variable.

Although at that stage the prince was still certain that Goku would join him, not even considering the possibility that the third-class would dare oppose him -- let alone succeed in his defiance...

The girl promptly clipped that line of thought. She had far more pressing concerns to deal with and resolved to refrain from fretting over the wisdom of royal gambles for the time being. She'd learned the importance of negotiation from Raditz and she knew that it was time to haggle when she heard that the humans were also planning to join the hunt for the Namekian Dragonballs, hoping to wish their expired companions back to life.

The Earthlings were impressively resourceful and had managed to dig up a ship of their own -- of ancient Namekian origin no less -- to transport them to the Dragonballs' homeland. The star-charts were sorely outdated however, as Nurami learned from the appointed captain, a jade-maned woman of Earth's science-caste, and being the planet-locked race they were, the humans were clueless about the politics of interstellar travel, presenting the young soldier with a valuable bargaining chip in her dealings with her former foes. Grasping the opportunity with both hands, the girl called a truce with the Earthlings and struck up an arrangement, agreeing to guide them through the solar system on a course that would keep them away from hostile factors such as hijackers, regulation patrols and the like in exchange for a lift to Planet Namek were she was sure to find her prince -- though that wasn't something the Earthlings needed to know as far as she was concerned. She also conveniently "forgot" to mention Frieza and his plans for the Dragonballs of Namek, lest she dissuade her new shipmates from their quest and rob herself of her only ticket off the technologically challenged crap-hole that was Earth...

In the end however, Nurami was as ill prepared as any of the humans for what transpired on Namek and she cursed her mother with hexes from every culture she'd helped to annihilate for not teaching her how to block the all-consuming torrent of emotion that streamed from Vegeta in those horrible minutes before his death at the Ice Lord's feet.

She was standing with the Earthlings some distance away from the fight, staring dolefully at her liege's broken body, unaware that her earnest sorrow was causing the breakwaters of her mind to tumble, leaving the psychic receptors in her brain uninsulated against the tide of emotion flooding form the dying prince. Intuition drove her to reach out to him in empathy, and before she knew what was happening their minds were locked in a mental vice grip and she was entering his psyche with a ferocity that blurred her vision and turned her legs to liquid as Vegeta's torment became her own.

His emotions began pouring into her; inundating her so completely that she couldn't distinguish between her own feelings and those belonging to the waning prince. Soon she was witnessing memories that weren't hers, reliving turmoil she'd never endured. She saw his suffering and felt his impotent rage at the Iceling's power over him, overtaken by his fear and solitude.

She cried out as the images intensified, her mere will proving inadequate to numb her brain to the relentless barrage of thought and feeling being projected from the dying elite; stripping away the facades of arrogance and pride to reveal the most guarded reaches of his being to her unwilling scrutiny. She beheld his perceived failings and experienced the contrition and gnawing self-recrimination that consumed him -- only dimly aware of the Earthlings calling to her from far away.

She looked on inertly, unable to sever the frightful link as the darkest depths of his soul were laid bare, the tidal wave cresting with a deep, shameful sense of worthlessness evoked by his own scalding hatred for the monster that he was. Made to kill billions in the service of a tyrant, he was revered and feared across the Cosmos but essentially unvalued beyond his skill as a conqueror, unworthy of the acceptance and love that all beings craved.

It was then, in the churning tumult of Vegeta's final moments that a sentiment bloomed within her that neither she, nor the prince had ever felt before: the need to console another. Her limbs acted of their own accord, lifting off the ground and carrying her to Vegeta's side where he lay, gasping his last breaths in a sticky concoction of earth and coagulating blood. All she could think to do was leave him with the assurance that he was not as he saw himself -- a failure -- but a bastion of strength to his people; a martyr who would be remembered for as long as Saiyan blood surged through sentient veins. She collapsed against his crimson-soaked chest, shutting out the Iceling's cackling laughter and sobbed as she recited the Ilra Kai Han -- last rites of heroes -- while a lifetime's worth of pent-up tears flowed freely from the prince's dimming eyes.

She lay clinging to Vegeta's lifeless form until Goku lifted her off him and handed her to a recently re-embodied Piccolo. Through the haze of her exhaustion she watched as the pureblood knelt to bury the empty shell of his nemesis and sovereign, laying the tortured man to rest before embarking on a battle that would ultimately see a Legend reborn; the violent death of a peaceful world; and most importantly, the end of Frieza's power.

When Nurami was wished to Earth along with the resurrected prince, humans and homeless Namekian natives, her molested psyche could withstand no more intrusion and she immediately fled into the woods like a coward. Raditz would've been so disappointed in her if he knew how she'd disregarded her duties, abandoning her liege in adverse territory -- although Vegeta appeared too enthralled with the high-strung female pilot to mind too much...

Nurami found sanctuary in a large rainforest called "the Amazon" with only animals for company, giving her the comfort of other life forms' closeness without the constant invasion into her traumatised mind. She did not return to her post until she sensed the Icelings' despicable power descending upon the planet and hesitated only for millisecond, fearful of a reoccurrence of the previous showdown against the Ice Emperor, before forfeiting the asylum of the trees for the theatres of open war.

Her joy knew no bounds when Goku came to the rescue, materialising out of the blue using the Instant Transmission technique he'd learned on the Planet Yardrat where he'd retreated after Namek's explosion. She even let herself cheer jubilantly with the humans and allowed Gohan to smother her in a spontaneous hug when his father unceremoniously despatched Frieza and King Kold, this time ensuring that it was for good.

But like all good things, her elation was fleeting and the uncertainty settled soundly back into her chest after the reports of Koola's coming were confirmed. She was relieved when Vegeta gave her orders to prepare with Goku and the others for the monster's arrival instead of with him. She still had a hard time facing the prince, although she doubted whether he was aware of what she'd seen on Namek. She wouldn't have lived if he knew. The Earthlings thought that he wanted her to spy on his rivals, but that was not how the Prince of all Saiyans conducted affairs. She understood perfectly well that he desired her absence simply because he had a low tolerance for cubs in general and viewed her as a potential hindrance on his path to Super Saiyan...

--------------

Nurami's reminiscing was interrupted as an all too familiar odour accosted her nose, followed shortly by a buoyant male voice calling her name. She'd detected some decreasingly subtle changes in Goku's scent over the past couple of days, and he'd probably be going into a rut once the night got underway. She looked up to see the pureblood trudging toward her through knee-deep water with Gohan catching a ride on his massive shoulders and frowned in surprise.

"_Dinner time already?_" She thought, for the first time taking in the evening twilight. The gold and red of the setting sun was slowly melting into the lake, transforming the water into liquid fire as flaming waves lapped at the shore.

"What's up, kiddo? You look like you're a million miles away." The burly Saiyan asked when he reached her, tousling her hair in the same way he often did his son's. Nurami pulled away with a warning snarl, startling Goku slightly and he quickly snatched his hand away.

Normally she didn't mind the contact all that much. Goku was one of a handful of people in the Universe who'd earned some measure of her trust. He'd managed to breach the barriers a life of bondage and violence had necessitated and she knew in spite of her inveterate cynicism, that his actions had no ulterior motive... usually. But the situation was far from "usual" as the scent of his approaching Moon Fever, or "Unrak Nagul" in the Saiyan tongue, ebbed off him in waves and cranked her deep-rooted paranoia into overdrive. Goku had a female and the absence of a satellite sedated his urges to a large extent -- he probably didn't even notice that he was going into ruts -- but the memories of Nappa's unwanted advances during his ruts was bad enough to make her steer clear of any and all horny males.

Unlike Raditz and Vegeta, Nappa was Bonded when their planet was destroyed and his mate had been obliterated along with the rest of the populous. Raditz had told her that the irremediable loss had unhinged the man and all that mattered to the older elite was that she was part Saiyan and the closest he could come to replacing his dead spouse, never mind the fact that she was barely beyond infancy. Raditz had tried to protect her, even Vegeta had stepped in on a few close shaves, but in the end it was Nurami's Xel Alar abilities that saved her from the bold giant's perversion.

It was during one particularly ferocious assault that she entered his mind out of pure desperation, exploiting the weaknesses she found tucked away in his subconscious and summoned up his worst nightmares; forcing the warrior to relive his most agonizing memories until he was reduced to a weeping, quivering mass, trembling on the floor. Nappa's fever-driven attempts at ravishing her didn't totally cease after that, but his determination did depreciate significantly.

The elite's aberration aside, she understood that ruts were a necessary evil, incorporated into the Saiyan genome to ensure the survival of the race by distracting males temporarily from their insatiable lust for fighting and warfare to focus on more procreative matters. On Planet Vegeta the mating season came around annually and was quite intense, although that was usually the only time you'd be able to interest a non-Bonded man in intimacy of that sort. The lunar cycle that triggered the hormonal changes was far shorter on Earth however, and even though the moon was no more, Goku's physiology didn't seem to notice and he was experiencing his ruts on a monthly basis -- much to Nurami's vexation, since her overly wary nature wouldn't allow her anywhere near him during his fevers.

He was a Super Saiyan after all, and his telepathic prowess was remarkable considering his seemingly limited IQ, giving her a miniscule chance of survival, let alone escape, if her Saiyan blood seduced him somehow and he **did** get it in his head to take her.

"I'm not going back with you." She stated non sequitur to Goku's inquiry and stood, stretching as she did so, before bending to gather up the heap of grimy combat gear.

"... I won't be using these for a few days so see to it that your mate cleans them." The girl instructed with trademark Saiyan arrogance and held the pile out for Goku to take. He only shrugged in agreement as he took the bundle off her hands. He'd become accustomed to her periodic respites from training and assuming that it was a "girl-thing," he didn't want to ask too many questions.

"Suit yourself..." He said, smiling with vacuous innocence "... but you're missing out. Chi Chi said we're having tonkatsu tonight." Nurami merely grunted in return, but she felt a pang of regret at Goku's words nonetheless -- Chi Chi may have been insufferable, buther cooking was to die for!

"See ya." Gohan said as he slid off his father's shoulders and skipped over to the ever-meditating Piccolo to inform him that they were going back to the Sons' cabin for the evening meal.

"_As if he doesn't know exactly what's going on._" Nurami thought, saluting the others in a parting gesture before drifting up toward the south-western boundary of the forest. When she reached the edge of the woods she stopped and took a moment to admire the flawless beauty of the night.

"... _I'm glad we didn't purge this world._" She admitted quietly to herself, watching the stars sparkling like diamonds on a backdrop of rich, black velvet, a choir of crickets chirping from below.

Needing a heading, she tentatively spread out her awareness in search of the planet's other warriors and found that Vegeta wasn't at the Briefs' residence as she'd expected. In fact his signature was so far off that in all likelihood he wasn't even on the continent anymore, giving her a hunch that Goku's hormones weren't raging in isolation. Only with no mate to sate his need, Vegeta would have to find some alternative means of distraction and by the way his energy was slightly suppressed, she imagined that he was out hunting something large and toothy.

That female technician, Bulma her name was, had invited both her and the prince to stay at her dwelling while they prepared to fight Koola and with Vegeta gone, maybe she'd be able to spend the night there instead of in the forest as she usually did. Not that she minded the forest, but Gohan had been particularly peppy during the day's training and he'd taken a lot out of her. Besides, only a fool would choose a hard cave floor when a nice soft bed was well within reach and with her mind made up, Nurami zoomed off with a spurt of energy. Destination: Capsule Corp.

-- 'Bad Blood' by Ministry

Next Chapter: Nurami shows up at CC.

I just want to point out that Goku and Vegeta's ruts don't always coincide. Goku grew up on Earth. His biorhythms are adjusted to the planet's lunar cycle and that's why he ruts on a monthly basis. Vegeta though, is a completely different story...


	4. GIRLTALK

Thanks again to Meliza Mac, SSJ NaCoBe and Kyra Fable for beta-ing and all your great advice. You guys are the best!

**ACCIDENTAL REDEMPTION**

**By Evil Saint**

**IV. GIRLTALK**

--Do I stress you out

My sweater is on backwards and inside out

And you say how appropriate

I don't want to dissect everything today

I don't mean to pick you apart you see

But I can't help it

It had been the longest of long days and Bulma was very grateful to be home at last. She was looking forward to a nice, romantic evening with Yamcha and taking a much needed break from the pressures of running a fortune five-hundred company.

It was hard to believe she'd been at it for only three days!

"_How does Dad do it?_" She wondered as she slouched through the front door, crossing the entrance-hall and moving through the living room to the staircase. She kicked off her pumps and held on to the railing for support, balancing on one leg to rub an aching foot.

"Elarim." A soft voice crooned from behind the couch on the opposite side of the room.

Bulma shrieked with fright at the unexpected greeting and clutched her chest to still her pounding heart, nearly toppling over as she reeled to face the speaker. It took her a second to recognise the girl standing in her living room with Dr. Briefs' purring black cat cuddled in her sinewy arms. Although she was still scrawny, Chi Chi's culinary skills had done her a world of good and she didn't look nearly as gaunt as she had when they'd first met. She was head and shoulders taller than when Bulma had last laid eyes on her and her hair, which used to be shaved off close to her scalp, had grown out into a matted, blond and auburn tangle that plummeted down to her waist.

"How the hell did you get in here?!" Bulma demanded when her fright induced panting subsided.

"Through the door." The girl answered matter-of-factly, her face expressionless as she quietly appraised the human female.

"All the doors were locked!"

"I know."

"Then how'd you get in? You don't know the codes."

"I used energy to counteract the system. It wasn't very hard." She stated in that patented eldritch voice of hers, utterly unperturbed by Bulma's apparent qualms.

"Oh... well... Vegeta's not here." The woman was puzzled when she came down for breakfast that morning and was not greeted by a pile of dirty dishes. Her confusion intensified for a moment when a peek out of the kitchen window told her that the GT-pod wasn't in commission either, but then she realised that Vegeta was probably off on one of his enigmatic sorties and simply forgot about it -- until entering her living room a minute ago.

"I know."

"Then... um... what are you... doing here?" Bulma stuttered nervously, coughing to clear her throat, which was suddenly lined with sandpaper.

"My presence disturbs you."

"What? ... No! ...You just caught me by surprise, that's all. Would you... maybe... like something to drink?"

Nurami nodded.

"Alright! Great! Then just take a seat in the kitchen and I'll be right with you, OK?" The girl said nothing, but placed the sleepy feline on the couch with startling tenderness and did as directed, leaving a nonplussed Bulma alone to collect her thoughts.

The woman felt a stone of anxiety drop to the bottom of her stomach as she swiftly reviewed the unexpected turn of events in head. She'd only had superficial encounters with the girl in the past and they'd never had an actual conversation. On the trip to Namek the Saiyan restricted herself to interacting with the other fighters, ignoring Bulma like a stop sign the whole way. Upon arrival she took off immediately after sensing Vegeta's energy signature, utilising the technique Gohan and Krillin had taught her during the journey, and Bulma had hardly seen her since. So why would the girl make an appearance now that she was all alone in the house, save for the state-of-the-art guard robots which she apparently foiled quite easily?

With a change of clothes and a hot bubble bath being out of the question, Bulma tried to count her blessings and remembered that at the very least she was free of her restrictive shoes as she moved cautiously into the kitchen to tend to her imposing guest. The woman smiled wanly at the seated child as she entered the room, the girl's countenance remaining serenely blank while she drummed her fingers expectantly on the table-top.

"_Where the hell is Vegeta when you need him?_" Bulma thought reproachfully while making her way to the refrigerator, watching the girl in her peripheral vision.

"OK, let's see...We have ice tea, lemonade, cola, cream soda..."

"I'll have **that**." Nurami interjected before Bulma could finish relating the long list of available beverages.

"Cream soda?"

"Mmhmm." The woman could feel the girl's eyes on her as she took the bottle from the fridge and placed it on the counter. She collected two tall glasses from a cabinet above the sink and filled them to the brim with the fizzy green cooldrink, her hands shaking noticeably with nervous tension. Bulma silently cursed the fact that all the alcohol was locked away in her father's liquor cabinet in her parents' den on the third level. She could've really used some help from Jack Daniels or Captain Morgan right about then.

Carefully picking up the hissing glasses, Bulma walked over to the table and placed one in font of Nurami, sitting down in a chair opposite the girl. She took a draught of her own drink and watched as Nurami sniffed hers hesitantly, her nose wrinkling as the bubbles tickled it, before taking a small sip. She'd clearly never had cream soda before and Bulma had to stop herself from laughing affectionately at the girl's almost cute antics when a pair of uniquely shaded eyes pinned her from over the glass's rim.

Bulma smiled again and squirmed slightly under Nurami's unwavering gaze, noticing that in addition to the obvious changes in the child's appearance, faint signs of budding womanhood were visible through her skin-tight bodysuit. The woman wondered vaguely about the girl's age; she looked about fourteenish, but then again, so did Gohan and he was only nine.

"So 'Nurami' huh? That's a pretty cool name. I'll bet it means something really impressive too... Like 'Fearless War Goddess' or something...?" Bulma inquired lamely, feeling sorely on edge as she and the young demi-Saiyan regarded one another. The kid's exotic-sounding name was the only topic she could think of to break the awkward silence. Vegeta had indicated once that she was a "crossbreed" of sorts, but Bulma had no idea which alien race accounted for the other half of the girl's DNA. She only knew that a fierce killer lurked beneath the child-like veneer of the warrior sitting across from her and frankly, she wasn't sure what to expect.

"Not quite. It's Saiyan for 'girl-child.'" Nurami replied, dipping an index finger into her drink and stirring it around before licking it clean. Her voice was soft and fluent like flowing water -- ice water -- and sent pinpricks up and down Bulma's spine as she spoke. Still, the answer was far more forthcoming than expected and despite her chilling tone the girl seemed quite interested in making conversation.

"Oh." Bulma replied thickly, unable to think of anything more engaging to say.

"'_**Girl-child ?!' **Kami, did those chauvinistic Saiyan bastards call **all** women by their sex?_" The woman pondered with an inward frown, simultaneously agitated at the flagrant lack of creativity in the name's origin as well Vegeta's trite disregard of her own appellation.

"I had a different name once, in the language of my mother's people, but my old battle-kin preferred to change it." Nurami went on, seemingly unbothered by the one-sided alteration of her identity and then looked around suspiciously before gesturing for the woman to lean in closer. Bulma stared into the large gilded eyes for a second before adhering to the child's request, if somewhat reluctantly.

"... Saiyans can't speak Veshari; it's too hard to learn because it's not programmed into the ULCs." The girl informed her, whispering close to Bulma's ear with her little hand hiding her mouth as though she was revealing the best-kept secret in the Universe. There was such innocence in the mannerism that Bulma couldn't help smiling in spite of herself.

"_Maybe there **is** a child in there somewhere..._" She thought as she sat back, laughing strenuously in an attempt to sound jovial. Bulma deduced that "Veshari" was some or other obscure alien dialect, but she didn't have the foggiest clue what "ULCs" were. She decided not to betray her ignorance, though. She still felt uneasy. After all, Yamcha had told her that the little sadist flashed him a smile before barbequing his organs and expelling his innards all over the countryside!

The eleven-year-old reasserted her martial discipline as she reclined in her seat and surveyed Bulma silently for a few seconds before speaking again.

"So your mate told you of his death, did he? I don't see why. If I'd put up such a laughable resistance in a battle I'd rather be Dodoria's whore than have anyone know about it. But I guess I shouldn't be surprised after the way he advertised his weakness when we rallied to face Frieza. You don't have to be afraid, though. I have no reason to hurt you."

"I'm not afraid!" Bulma refuted quickly with more bravado than she felt, taken aback by the girl's accurate assessment of her thoughts.

A condescending snigger escaped Nurami's lips at Bulma's words, but her tranquil façade quickly slipped back into place. She folded her arms knowingly, probing the woman with a derogatory stare before countering.

"You're lying." She stated placidly from across the table, contradicting the ominous glint in her yellow eyes. Bulma shifted self-consciously in her chair, well aware that the little bitch was relishing her discomfort from behind the composed mask. With that thought, the woman felt her sensible caution mutate into righteous anger at the girl's forwardness and resolved to put her in her place.

"_All she needs is a damn good spanking._" Bulma thought as she locked eyes with the alien brat, pushing the drinks aside and leaned forward to prove her point, unabashed aversion plain in her oceanic gaze.

"Just because you're a member of a soon-to-be extinct race of barbarians, doesn't mean everybody pisses themselves around you." She said in a disparaging tone, recklessly imprudent of the child's volatile affinity for bloodshed.

Nurami raised an eyebrow at the human's brazen show of disdain. Then she closed in as well, rising to the challenge. She liked this Earth woman; unlike her mate she was no coward.

"Perhaps... " She said in a quiet, yet piercing tone "... that is why it is so fortunate that Saiyans have ways of knowing when fear is present... and when it needs to be instilled."

"Just what is **that** supposed to mean?!" Bulma snapped, all instincts of self-preservation evaporating in the heat of her indignation at being threatened in her own kitchen. The miniature mercenary grinned triumphantly at the Earthling's inquiry and leaned back in her chair with an air of superiority about her.

"Saiyans can smell chemical changes in blood and those of the more basic emotions, **like fear**, are especially potent -- Raditz explained it to me..." She said proudly before continuing the biology lecture "... Natural steroids are flowing through your bloodstream as we speak, betraying your anxiety. But like I said, there is nothing to gain from harming you so you have nothing to be scared of." Bulma blinked back her surprise at the girl's eloquent summation, feeling slightly levelled by what she'd just learned.

"**Raditz** explained that to you?"

"Yes. He knew everything."

"No shit." Bulma mused, stupefied at the notion that any Saiyan, let alone a relative of Goku's, would be informed about something not directly pertaining to fighting or food and then have the foresight to pass on his knowledge.

"... But lemme get this straight, you can **smell** changes in a person's blood?"

"Yes. All Saiyan-senses are far more acute than humans'; smell is just one of them."

"Mmm, interesting... Vegeta too?"

"Obviously."

"Yeah... Obviously." Bulma echoed, unnerved by the discovery that Vegeta was able to determine her moods by scent, leaving her at a distinct disadvantage.

"... So um... what's 'Veshari' anyway?" She asked, feeling a little bolder after Nurami's promise not to hurt her.

"The Veshari was my mother's people, but they went to war against the Kold Empire and their homeworld, Sirith, was destroyed, just like Planet Vegeta. Very few survived, but those that remain are feared throughout the Universe."

"Wow! Were they warriors too?"

"No. The Veshari had the gift of Xel Alar... It means that they were the most powerful telepaths in the Universe." She explained upon seeing Bulma's befuddled expression.

"Telepaths... you mean they could read people's minds?!" Nurami's features took on a pained expression at the woman's ignorance before responding by way of an affirmative grunt.

"Frea-ky! So can you ... like... do that kinda stuff?"

The girl shrugged in assent.

"Whoa! So **that's** how you knew what I was thinking." Bulma said with an anxious laugh, her tone betraying more of her re-established apprehension than she would've liked.

"_I guess I should be careful what I think._" The human made a mental note and automatically began chewing on her bottom lip as she gauged the girl's behaviour, wondering exactly how much of her mind had been laid bare before the child's prying eyes.

"You needn't fret, Earthling. I don't like invading people's minds, but sometimes I can't help picking up a stay thought here and there."

"I see..." Bulma said with a thoughtful expression now gracing her fine features, her mood changing abruptly with the reassurance that all her skeletons were still safely tucked away in their closets "... don't s'pose you could gimme the low-down on Vegeta then, huh?" She chortled conspiringly, thinking about the juicy titbits the girl might have been privy to and the possibility of applying such knowledge in future arguments with the manipulative Saiyan Prince.

"**I most certainly could not!**" Nurami hissed in response, flying out of her seat and knocking over her soda as her fists dented the tabletop in sudden outrage, making Bulma jump.

Neither female paid any attention to the small servo-bot that immediately scurried over from its alcove to sweep away the glass fragments and mop up the spilled cooldrink before disappearing again.

"... Saiyans may have limited telepathic aptitude, but Prince Vegeta's skills were honed from birth and his mental shields are impenetrable! I would **never** attempt to probe his mind!" Her intonation was inappropriately calm as ever, though the temperature of her already glacial voice had dropped a considerable few degrees.

"I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to insult you. I was only joking -- honest." Bulma apologised quickly, raising her hands in front of her as if to ward off an attack.

"... Wait a sec. Did you just say that Saiyans have telepathic powers too?"

"Yes. Most races have some kind of telepathic ability. Yours is the most pathetic species I've ever encountered when it comes to mastery of the mind." Nurami snarled, still glaring daggers at the woman in front of her, but Bulma pretended not to notice.

"Those Saiyans certainly are a versatile bunch, aren't they?" She pondered aloud, sounding almost dreamy. Bulma knew she was acting like an airhead, but she couldn't be sure how far Nurami would go to satisfy her clearly offend Saiyan honour and she'd learned from her mother that it was incredibly difficult to stay furious at someone if they appeared not to comprehend your ire. All she could do was pray that the kid wouldn't catch on to her ploy.

Luckily, the girl was too busy battling down the plethora of emotions evoked by the mention of breaching Vegeta's psyche that she didn't pick up on what Bulma was feeling. She swallowed the act hook, line and sinker, rolling her eyes at the woman's apparently non-existent attention span and snorted in disgust as she retook her seat. She didn't want to risk Vegeta's wrath by injuring the Earthling. He had to be quite smitten with her if he'd be prepared to put up with such insolence.

Bulma heaved an inward sigh of relief as the girl's temper cooled, thankful that the tactic had worked and swiftly continued the conversation, lest the kid catch on and freak out again.

"So, did you come here just for soda and conversation, or was there something else on your mind?" Bulma asked sweetly, hoping for a change of subject that wouldn't set the girl off.

"I can't spend the night at Goku's and I need a place to sleep." Nurami answered, getting straight to the point.

"Oh. Did you and Chi Chi have a fallout or something?"

"Yes, but that's not why I want to stay here. Goku's having his Unrak Nagul. I know it's not as fierce as it would've been if there was a moon, and he can probably control himself, but I still don't like taking unnecessary chances. Normally I sleep in the forest, but..." She trailed off, grimacing as she rubbed the tender bruises on her back and shoulders in a shameless play for sympathy.

"Goku's having **what?**" The girl forgot her contusions and stared at Bulma disbelievingly for a moment. When she determined that the woman really wasn't teasing, she groaned and rolled her eyes once more.

"Don't you know anything? His Unrak Nagul! ... The 'Moon Fever'? ...--sigh--... Saiyan males have ruts, linked to the phases of the moon that..."

"Rut?! You mean... he's... like... going into a rut?!"

"**Yes.**" Nurami bit out in reply, not bothering to disguise her exasperation. The woman had clearly never been cornered by a Saiyan male in a full-blown fever if she could sit there laughing as though it was the funniest thing she'd ever heard of.

"... Can I stay or not?" She pressed impatiently, not at all amused by the human who was now clutching her sides, her eyes watering as she doubled over with mirth.

"Yeah... Yeah... Of course you can stay..." Bulma gasped as her gale of giggles died down "... but only if you tell me more about this 'Moon Fever' thing."

Nurami complied and they continued to talk, swiftly loosing track of time as the girl held Bulma spellbound with outlandish tales, not restricted to Saiyan culture, but also of extra terrestrial civilizations, space pirate feuds, interstellar trade routes and innovative alien technologies -- "ULC" turned out to be the abbreviation for Universal Language Converter: a microchip implanted in a person's brain, giving them the ability to speak, read and write any language programmed into device's database.

Both women startled when another high tech communications device -- commonly known as the doorbell -- intruded on Nurami's fascinating narration, pulling Bulma back to Earth at a dizzying velocity.

"Oh crap, Yamcha's here!"

"Your mate?"

"Yes!"

"My sincerest sympathies, then."

"Ha ha, very funny. Shit! I'm nowhere near ready. Come on, we have to get the door!" Bulma scrambled to her feet as the bell sounded again and practically ran to the foyer with a smirking Saiyan hybrid in tow. The woman didn't even bother to turn on the lights in the entrance-hall and nearly fell against the door in her haste, flinging it open to reveal a smart looking Yamcha on the other side. He smelled of Blue Stratos and was dressed to kill in a black Armani suit and blood-red silk shirt with no tie, hinting at his sculpted chest. Bulma on the other hand was barefoot, still donning a sweaty, navy-blue business ensemble and reeked of stale cigar smoke residual from the day's business meeting at West Capitol City's Old Boy's Club.

"Um... H-hey Babe." Yamcha greeted her unsteadily, his Cheshire grin turning into a confused grimace as he took in her appearance.

"... Why aren't you ready? We're gonna lose our reservation."

"I'm really sorry Yamcha, but something came up and..."

"Elarim Human."

It was then that Yamcha saw the cause of Bulma's tardiness and his skin crawled as the girl met his eyes with an evil smile. Nurami hadn't seen the human in some time and she fancied ruffling his feathers a bit -- just for kicks.

His face turned several shades of green when she upped her energy and made a show of lowering her eyes to his midsection, her grin widening slightly so that her dog-like fangs gleamed in the light pouring in from the porch. Yamcha froze and lowered his own eyes to his abdomen, feeling sick with the memories kindled by her display. He shuddered when the twisted little runt threw her head back and cackled with glee at his reaction.

"Silly Human." She jeered, still laughing derisively and shaking her head in amusement at his alarm.

"I see your tail grew back." Yamcha snarled angrily, remembering what Krillin had told him about the girl's defeat.

"Indeed." She answered smoothly, adopting Vegeta's classic stance as the appendage under discussion unfurled from her waist, thrashing challengingly.

"...Though you still seem to be missing a certain pair of crucial body parts." She retorted, leering blatantly at his crotch. Yamcha opened and closed his mouth like a fish on dry land, struck dumb by the girl's open vulgarity.

"OK, break it up you two!" Bulma intervened, stepping in-between the agitated fighters.

"She stared it!"

"Oh, very mature Yamcha."

"You're my **girlfriend**, Bulma! You're supposed to be on **my** side! What is she doing here anyhow? I though Mr. High and Mighty gave her orders to train with Goku... "

"Not now Yamcha, there isn't time." Bulma said authoritatively and placed her hands on the girl's shoulders to steer her towards the stairs.

"... Come on. I'll show you to your room, but gimme attitude and I'm calling Goku to Instant Transmission your ass back to the forest right now, got it?" She whispered to Nurami in her strictest tone, earning instant compliance and looked over her shoulder to address her incensed boyfriend.

"... You wait here. I'll be ready in fifteen minutes, and then we can go OK?" She said, turning a deaf ear to Yamcha's stammered objections and hustled the girl up the stairs and toward the empty guest-room in her parents' wing on the third floor.

"_No rest for the wicked..._" Bulma thought wryly as she dashed to her own boudoir to get ready for her date.

-- 'All I really want' by Alanis Morisette

Next Chapter: Vegeta's back at the mansion and Bulma gets her hair done.


	5. GREEN EYED MONSTERS

All hail Heartless and Cat who reviewed chapter4. Thanks a lot you two! Now, let's give a round of applause to the awesome group of people known as beta-readers who took time out of their busy schedules to fix my mistakes -- especially Shen Long. It's highly appreciated, guys!

**ACCIDENTAL REDEMPTION**

**By Evil Saint**

**V. GREEN EYED MONSTERS**

--I am everything you want  
I am everything you need  
I am everything inside of you  
That you wish you could be  
I say all the right things  
At exactly the right time  
But I mean nothing to you

And I don't know why

"So your parents aren't home, huh?" Yamcha queried suggestively, nuzzling Bulma's neck from behind as the pair shuffled in through the front door of her house. He'd wrapped an arm around her midriff while his free hand moved up to glide the spaghetti-strap of her black cocktail dress off her shoulder, lightly stroking her skin in the process.

Bulma grimaced at the caress and wriggled fee of his embrace before turning to face him. She was agitated and well beyond tired. Arranging her perm into a semi-elegant pile atop her head had proven trickier than she'd thought and they ended up being over an hour late for their dinner reservations at the sophisticated Café Toulouse. Fame and fortune have their perks though, and Bulma managed to bribe the snooty, wannabe-French host into giving them a table anyway, hoping that her little moral compromise would appease her petulant boyfriend. Instead however, Yamcha spent the whole evening bitching at her about "rubber principles" and Bulma had to enlist every anger management technique in the book to keep from dismembering him in a restaurant full of West City's beau monde!

Their date was anything but the romantic reprieve she'd dreamed of and by the time they got home, Bulma's patience and energy were completely spent. All the young CEO wanted was a soft bed and a few hours' sleep before re-entering the dog-eat-dog arena of the corporate world and her boyfriend's salacious groping wasn't getting her any closer to those goals. The woman was too exhausted for an altercation, so she took the tactful approach and smeared a sweet smile on her face before leaning in to place a chaste peck on his cheek.

"Thanks for a lovely evening, Yamcha. I had a great time, but now I really want to go to bed."

"No objections here." Yamcha purred with a devilish grin, misinterpreting her dismissal for an invitation, and moved closer to her again. He slid both arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him and leaned forward slightly, forcing her to arch her back. He peppered her neck and collarbone with kisses, hungrily blazing a downward trail to the dark satin straining over her voluptuous chest.

Bulma stiffened at his touch and frowned in aggravation at his misunderstanding of her words.

"Yamcha stop!" She protested in no uncertain terms, pushing against his shoulders with all the strength she possessed in an effort to break the amorous contact between their bodies.

Yamcha sighed as he got the message and stole a short moment to savour the aroma of her Chanél scented flesh before acknowledging her rejection. He steadied her on her feet and stepped back with hurt etched plainly across his face, his arms falling to his sides as his shoulders drooped in disappointment.

"I'm sorry Yamcha..." Bulma apologised, trying to sound sincere as she searched for an excuse that would send him on his way without too big a fuss "... but I... err... I just can't do this with Nurami here, she might hear us."

"Oh and we wouldn't want to upset the little mass-murderer with something as **unthinkable **as making out, now would we?" Yamcha sneered sarcastically, throwing his hands in the air.

"... I can't believe that's the best you could come up with, Bulma. But if it's not your parents or projects or migraines or your period then I guess homicidal aliens are a trusty last resort, aren't they?" He said bitterly, his features stark with accusation.

"What are you implying?!" Bulma spat indignantly, sounding a little more defensive than she'd intended.

"You're a genius. Figure it out!" He grumbled dryly, straightening his jacket as he turned to walk out the door. He stepped onto the patio and shot one last look at her over his shoulder, wishing she would change her mind. When Bulma did nothing to stop his departure, he huffed angrily and stomped across the yard to his car, glad that he didn't encapsulate it when they arrived. With a deep scowl marring his ruggedly handsome face, he loudly revved up the cherry-red sports model and shot out of the driveway with screeching tyres.

--------------

Yamcha couldn't believe that Bulma had spurned him yet again. He'd put up with her chastity when they were teenagers, wanting to be respectful of her feelings, but by Kami they weren't kids anymore. They were both in their twenties now and it was getting ridiculous! There were plenty of girls out there just as pretty as Bulma -- prettier even -- who would give anything to spend a night in his arms, while the one woman he truly wanted to be with wouldn't so much as cuddle with him; not since that mother fucking monkey moved in...

Yamcha was at a loss when he found out that Bulma had invited **Vegeta **to stay at Capsule Corp. -- reportedly right after calling the alien bastard "cute" in front of everyone! He felt so hurt and betrayed, but he couldn't talk to her about it. It wasn't as if she'd listen or consider for just one second how her spur-of-the-moment decisions affected him. She'd just tell him that he was being selfish again, like she always did when he wanted her to see something from his point of view.

Their date was another textbook example of Bulma's total disregard for his feelings. They hadn't been on a proper outing since Goku's return and he wanted to do something special for her to celebrate her appointment as president of one of the world's most lucrative companies. He'd intended to take her out over the weekend, but she stubbornly refused, saying that she had a string of business meetings to prepare for and that she didn't have time to spare. Finally they compromised and Bulma agreed to go out with him on Wednesday evening since she didn't have any appointments scheduled for the rest of the week.

Though the timing wasn't exactly romantic, Yamcha was unfazed in his quest to give his girlfriend one of the most memorable nights of her life and he made sure to check and double check their plans with her to ensure that everything would go smoothly. He wanted the evening to be perfect and it stung like a slap in the face when Bulma opened the door, still dressed in her work clothes. Then that horrible little sidekick of Vegeta's appeared in the doorway, adding insult to injury, and what did Bulma do? She rubbed salt in his wounded pride by rewarding the little bitch -- his murderer -- with a nice warm bed for her troubles!

Kami, he felt like he was being disembowelled all over again!

The brat reminded him of the children in horror movies and he didn't understand how Bulma could even consider harbouring the mini psychopath after what she did to him. But of course **he** was the one being "inconsiderate and unreasonable" for wanting to send the damned hell-spawn back to whichever hole she crawled out of. Sometimes it seemed like his girlfriend was trying to piss him off on purpose -- almost as if she wanted to get back at him...

"_She couldn't possibly still suspect me of cheating on her. Could she?_"

Admittedly, Yamcha **did** have a lot of groupies, but he was an all-star pitcher for Japan's number one baseball team. It came with the job! Those girls were just fans, but Bulma was always so ready to expect the worst of him. Professional sports is as much a popularity contest as any political campaign and Bulma just couldn't understand that sometimes he had to mingle and flirt, simply to keep up appearances. She was born with a silver spoon in her mouth and she never had to work for a single thing in her life. Yamcha, on the other hand, had to struggle and scrape for every chance he got and he wasn't about to blow it all by being rude to his supporters -- be they middle-aged males or teenage beauty queens. He was sick and tired of Bulma's suspicions and the embarrassment it caused him!

One incident stood out in his mind like no other and he knew that **that** was the day trust was lost to their relationship. It was his first big break with the press. He'd just turned twenty-one and had recently been chosen to play for the Titans when the phone call came: FHM wanted an interview with **him**! Bulma was the first person he told about it and he was so excited he thought he was going to burst out of his skin.

He was meeting the reporter over lunch and as luck would have it, the magazine sent a woman to interview him. She was very flirtatious and it made him uncomfortable, but he wasn't about to wreck his public image by telling her off. Bulma was nineteen and had just finished her combined doctorate in metallurgic and electronic engineering. She'd been appointed as a top-level researcher in her father's company and was almost always swamped with work, which was why he couldn't believe it when she came storming into the restaurant half way through the interview.

To think he was relieved to see her, thinking that now he could introduce his girlfriend as inducement for the reporter to ease up, but that was not at all how it played out. Bulma had accused him of cheating on her and called him a "lying slut" in front of a restaurant full of people. She even threw his Camborne in his face for good measure, screaming that it was over between them and that she never wanted to see his two-timing face again.

"_She's always had a flair for the dramatic. If the grease monkey thing didn't work out she would have made one hell of an actress_." Yamcha thought, not really amused.

He'd nearly died of mortification and if things weren't bad enough, the skank of a reporter took full advantage of the misunderstanding by devoting most of her article -- which was supposed to be about his sporting career -- to painting a picture of him as a playboy and a womaniser, providing Bulma with so-called written proof of his misdemeanours.

Dr. Briefs' raunchy assistant had been coming on to him for some time and he decided to ask her out, reasoning that he might as well commit the crime he'd been convicted of. Technically it wasn't cheating -- Bulma **had** dumped him in front of a crowd of witnesses -- and he wanted to have some fun for a change. He knew having a fling with a Capsule Corp. employee wasn't the best idea, but he was beyond caring at that point.

Yamcha felt the burn of guilt heat his face as he thought back on it now. Perhaps, Bulma wasn't the only one to blame for their problems. He used Kasumi to hurt her and he was regretting it more than words could say...

The man was hardly aware of his surroundings as his hands and feet worked automatically to steer his car in the direction of his apartment building, independent of any instructions from his troubled mind.

He was sure that Bulma knew about him and Kasumi. How could she not? But they'd never had a chance to discuss it openly and clear the air. The Prince of all Assholes showed up and had him killed before he could make amends with her and then, after everything she went through to wish him back, it seemed redundant to bring up the subject of his affair with the "village bicycle."

Was that why she gave asylum to his assassins... to hurt him back?

When Yamcha saw her beaming at him after his resurrection he was certain that they could put it all behind them and that everything would be alright, but now as he pulled into his building's driveway, resting his head against the steering wheel, he wasn't all that confident anymore...

--------------

It was Monday.

Nurami only hung around for three days before returning to the woods, or at least that's where Bulma assumed she went. Vegeta was still MIA and the woman had practically implored the young alien to stay longer, but the girl declined, explaining that she didn't want "her scent to linger."

Saiyans. Go figure.

That Tuesday was a public holiday and a lot of people were taking the day off so they could have a long weekend. Bulma longed to do the same, but the rest of the world couldn't care less and she had an important meeting scheduled with the head of Capsule Corp's American competitor, Luther Corp, (anything's possible :-P) which she had to spend the whole weekend preparing for. Being the boss really sucked sometimes!

Unfortunately -- much to acting president Briefs' covert delight -- Lionel Luther had cancelled their trade negotiations at the very last minute due to some or other trouble at one of his company's factories. This meant that Bulma had the whole afternoon to herself and so she decided to spend the time pretending that she was a regular twenty-something with limitless credit and go lounging about at the West City Plaza, buying useless knickknacks and obscenely expensive clothes and getting her hair done while she was at it.

Her perm was starting to wilt and she was long overdue for a change anyway. She managed to sweet talk her way into an appointment with her favourite stylist to have her hair relaxed and she was looking forward to reaping the rewards of a much-needed deep conditioning treatment. Yamcha always liked her hair down and she was going to knock his socks off with this makeover! They'd declared a shaky ceasefire after Wednesday night's fiasco and she supposed she owed it to him to look pretty when everyone got together to celebrate Umi no Hi, but first she had to make a stop at the Briefs estate to change into more comfortable attire.

She had wished a great many atrocities upon the inventor of the business suit over the past week. Bulma was a technician at heart and much to her mother's vexation, her ensemble of choice was a pair of denim shorts, a T-shirt, comfy ankle boots and overalls to cover the lot -- a far cry from the pinstriped three piece and stockings she was currently sporting.

She walked into the house expecting nothing but ear-splitting silence and her face spilt into an ecstatic grin upon hearing the telltale scuffling noises that could only mean one thing...

"_Vegeta's back!_"

As reclusive as the Saiyan Prince was, his return meant that her solitary confinement of the past couple of days was over and to Bulma that was cause for celebration in its own right. She'd never completely gotten over the fact that Krillin and Gohan -- the people she trusted to protect her -- had abandoned her on Namek, leaving her to the mercy of a hostile alien planet without giving it a second thought and as a result she absolutely abhorred being left on her own. On a sentient level she knew that her ongoing phobia was childish and irrational, but subconsciously she just couldn't shake the fear that people would leave and never come back.

She followed the sound of clanking glass and shifting Tupperware to the kitchen where she saw Vegeta, or more specifically Vegeta's towel clad ass, protruding from behind the wide open refrigerator door as he raided the contents. The moment she appeared in the entrance he froze, a deathly silence befalling the room as he placed a hand on the edge of the appliance's door and slowly straightened to his full stature. His long tail was hanging free for a change, instead of bound around his midsection or swishing in all directions. Only the very tip was twitching restlessly and Bulma wondered briefly if it had anything to with the cold billowing from the gaping appliance.

It was clear that he'd recently taken a shower with his wet hair draped over his muscular shoulders in soaked clusters, presenting an interesting alternative to the gravity defying spikes she'd become accustomed to. Little beads of water clung to his skin and her eyes automatically followed the tiny droplets as they lazily made their way down his cut physique... trailing along an old laceration on his finely sculpted pectorals... winding past hardened nipples... gliding over the taut muscles of his stomach and finally trickling across the subtle curve of his lower abdomen to vanish within the folds of the fluffy beige towel wrapped around his hips.

Bulma felt very dehydrated all of a sudden and the liquid progressing down Vegeta's exquisite form seemed like just the thing to slake her thirst. Unconsciously, her tongue slid out to moisten her parted lips as her gaze drifted over the masculine contours of his nether regions, hidden under nothing more than a single layer of plush cloth...

She almost jolted out of her skin when the fridge was slammed closed so hard that several tiles were dislodged from the wall behind it and crashed loudly to the floor where they shattered into a thousand pieces. Bulma shivered when her eyes shot up to meet Vegeta's. The Saiyan's expression was harsh, even for him. He looked fed-up and extraordinarily pissed off and she felt fear seize her, certain that she'd incurred his wrath with her less-than-discreet ogling.

"H-hi." She croaked, her face turning beet red in petrified embarrassment as he glared at her contemptuously from under knitted brows, standing with his arms crossed over his chest and his tail curling around his waist. Vegeta huffed in response and started moving toward her. Bulma gasped with fright, thinking that he was going to manhandle her like he did when she refused to work on his training tools, but he just brushed past her roughly. She looked after him in confusion as he made his way to the stairs.

"Don't... don't you want something to eat?" She asked hesitantly, careful to keep her tone as benign as possible.

"I lost my appetite." He bit out hoarsely as he climbed the stairs two at a time, hastily stepping onto the second story landing and out of sight.

--------------

"_Fucking whore!_" Vegeta thought as he collapsed face down onto his bed. He would've gone out to the GT-pod for a workout, but he was too ravenous to train. He knew he should've killed himself something to eat before returning to the complex, but he didn't expect Bulma to be home so early in the day. What the hell was she doing at the mansion anyway -- apart from tormenting him?

He felt the tingle of déjà vu and found himself being haunted by the first time he'd laid eyes on her. They were on the Planet Namek and he was stuck without a scouter. He was getting the hang of Kakkarot's energy sensing technique, but had sent the half-breed out on a scouting patrol to verify his enemies' positions -- just in case. He was busy conducting his own search for the Namekian Dragonballs when perchance he espied the aquamarine-haired beauty hiding in a canyon. At first he thought she was an hallucination, conjured to tantalise him as punishment for his countless sins. She looked so much like a female of his deceased people that he almost fell from the sky as his heart raced and his insides twisted with hopeful excitement. It was only when he touched down in front of her and she started hollering like a banshee that he realised what she was: An Earthling -- nothing but a cheap imitation of his once feared race.

He was debating what to do with her when Zarbon appeared on the scene, making the decision for him. He hadn't thought so at the time, but the confrontation with the general had been a blessing in disguise and things turned out for the better because of it... if being cooped up in this Saiyan look-alike infested dome could be considered "for the better." The cursed humans bore such an uncanny resemblance to his own kind that it was easy to forget how weak and pitiful a species they truly were. They were very convincing imitations indeed, but forgeries nonetheless and he would have to remember that if he were to stay sane around them; especially around his feisty shrew of a hostess!

The confounded witch had more of her mother in her than he'd thought. She was courting disaster, just like the brainless blond often did, and Vegeta was sure she didn't even realise it! He was so shocked when the aroma of her arousal tickled his senses that he didn't recognise it immediately for what it was. Once he did though, it took every grain of discipline he had to keep from pouncing on her right there in the kitchen. He knew that her body's reaction was merely an instinctive response to his state of undress; completely beyond her control. She didn't actually want him -- not really -- and Kakkarot would castrate him if he laid a finger on her, but that wasn't what restrained him...

It was one thing to rape a nameless creature whose face would fade away into the collage of pained images that was splattered throughout his memory. But to see **her** face contorted in that look of disbelieving horror and angst; **her** cerulean eyes lancing his soul with that primal, loathing hatred... he couldn't even bear the thought.

Vegeta didn't know when the woman's opinion of him became an issue. All he knew was that it had, and at that precise moment he didn't feel like analyzing the reasons behind it as he ground his hips against the mattress, trying to find the needed friction to ease the desperate ache bulging within the towel he wore. Perhaps he'd returned too soon. The worst of his rut had subsided, but obviously he was nowhere near composed enough to keep his cool in the physical presence of a female, let alone one as desirable as Bulma.

How long had it been since he'd last had sex? Seven, maybe eight months at the most. He'd been forced to endure much longer dry spells under Frieza's rule, but celibacy was downright painful with the cursed wench always prancing around in his vicinity, enticing him with her lithe body and sumptuous curves. His infuriatingly frequent ruts didn't help either. Sure, the frequency ensured that his hormones didn't fluctuate as much as they had in the past, making the individual ruts easier to bear, but without sex who was to say that the long-term outcome wouldn't be exactly the same? Eventually he'd be overtaken by the blinding urge to sow his seed; all reason driven from his mind until he'd found the outlet his anatomy required. He wouldn't be able to stop himself anymore than a starving man who'd stumbled upon a gourmet banquet!

"Fuck that." He murmured, reprimanding himself sharply. Deprivation driven loss of control was no longer something he had to worry about. He wasn't under Frieza's thumb any more and he could come and go as he pleased. Unappealing as the notion was, if push came to shove he'd just go into space and spend a few weeks squandering whatever currency he had left to his name in one of the brothels he'd visited while searching for Kakkarot. Not that he doubted his ability to seduce an Earthling. He could fake just about any mood called for in a given situation -- a skill he'd perfected during twenty-two years in Frieza's service -- and he'd learned enough of human courting rituals to pull it off. From what he'd seen of the planet's general public, he was better looking than most of the native males, but how would he explain the tail?

He sure as hell wasn't about to follow Kakkarot's example of amputating body parts just because they weren't fashionable! For years Frieza had used the Saiyans' sensitive appendage as a means of inflicting misery and torment, plucking both excruciating pain and humiliating pleasure from their bodies -- sometimes as punishment for transgressions, but mostly just because he could. The pain was terrible to be sure, but it was the sickeningly shameful pleasure that finally drove the prince to fry the responsive nerves with a surge of energy, numbing his beloved tail and robbing the repugnant Iceling of a favourite plaything. Even so, he was devastated when the limb was hacked off during the fight against Earth's Special Forces, and if he ever found out who'd been wielding the offending blade he'd make sure to break every bone in the warrior's body, finishing with his neck!

Vegeta quivered as soft mahogany fur brushed tenderly over the back of his knees, reassuring him that Frieza was gone and his tail was back. He had risen from the dead with the limb's tactility restored and in his aroused state the light touch caused goose bumps to rise on his flesh as a blissful little thrill rippled through him, heightening his excitement.

"_The woman won't freak out, though._" He thought, grinning wistfully. He **had** spotted her eyeing the appendage on a few occasions. Who knew? Maybe she found it attractive. He allowed his mind to pursue the idea, conjuring images of the sexy vixen stroking and petting his sensitive tail and rolled onto his back, the towel falling away to expose his turgid cock to the open air.

All unpleasant thoughts were banished as a hand traced leisurely patterns down his abdomen, fingers splaying over the smooth skin before traveling lower to grip his awaiting hardness. Vegeta imagined that it was Bulma's nimble digits curling around him and he drew in a sharp, stinging breath through clenched teeth, his eyes rolling back in his skull as the warm pressure instantly sent a rush of gratification coursing through his veins. His tail snaked in between his spread legs and coiled twice around his left thigh, contracting rhythmically against the corded muscles to further stimulate the tingling nerve endings. Sensations like electric charges ran through the furry length and up and down the prince's spine into his already pulsing manhood, freeing a rumbling growl from low in his throat.

Vegeta bit down on his bottom lip to keep from crying out as his hand commenced a steady series of hard, pumping strokes over his swollen phallus; the other fisting in the coverlet as his hips lunged forward greedily, demanding more. The tip of his throbbing tail extended in answer and reached out to fondle the heavy sac tightening beneath his erection.

"Ah... Kami..." Vegeta was slightly startled when he heard the strangled moans escape his lips and bit down again, hard enough to draw blood. He couldn't afford to make any noise. The woman was still in the house and he definitely didn't want her to wise up to his bedroom activities. Control was becoming a bit slippery however, as his heightened senses were strained to their limit, overwhelming his brain with the acutely pleasurable impulses being wrung from his groin and tail.

Within moments the Saiyan was panting and gasping heavily, the sheen of shower water replaced with a thin film of perspiration as the stimuli harmonized into a mind-blowing symphony of pure sensation. The pistoning hand paused for a second as he swirled his thumb across his leaking slit, collecting the sticky precum that had pearled there, and massaged it into his skin. In his fantasy the woman had straddled his hips and was teasingly grazing her dripping cunt over the pink crown of his cock. Oh, how he yearned to drive into her satiny depths; to feel her inner muscles convulse around him as he took her to the pinnacle of ecstasy. What he wouldn't give to hear her scream his name in the heat of passion, declaring to the heavens that he was the one giving her such pleasure...

"_What the...?_" Ever since his sexual awakening, his fantasies -- filled with aggressive Saiyan elites or coquettish consorts -- had always centred on his satisfaction and his alone. Why was **this** female suddenly different?

The question was quickly stowed in the back of his mind. It was not the time to ponder such things as his blood turned to lava in his veins, threatening to burn him alive if he didn't find the release his every fibre was begging for. A raw needy sound, akin to a sob, clawed its way up his throat and he tightened his grasp on his aching shaft, his palm and cock drenched in the slick warmth of his precum as his hips bucked frenziedly into the circle of his hand.

Sweet gods, he was close... so very close...

He shut his eyes tightly and envisioned his celestial temptress moaning and trembling as she rode him hard and fast, her cobalt orbs misty with wanton lust. Her decadent sheath was contracting around his steely length, her juices spilling down his member and onto his pelvis and balls as she squeezed him in her most intimate embrace. His mind latched onto the memory of her heady musk and he imagined that her fingernails were digging into his flesh as she collapsed against his chest, screaming out her climax for the world to hear.

The prince had been teetering on the cusp of nirvana and the mere thought of the woman's orgasm kneading his manhood was enough to send him hurtling into his own release. Stars danced behind his eyelids and his back arched with the tensing of his jewels, his head thrown against the pillow in rapture. A guttural howl climbed up from deep in his chest, but he caught it in time, allowing only a low hissing groan to leave his mouth as liquid flames seared through his loins, burning along his shaft and erupting from the tip in thick spurts of white fire.

He continued milking his cock until he finished cuming. Lying still, he caught his breath before locating the discarded towel to wipe the semen off his torso and the blood from his chin. His climax had hit him like one of Kakkarot's punches, but now that it was over he felt strangely empty -- save for the vehement desire to decapitate Yamcha. Vegeta knew that Bulma would never willingly come to another male while she had that pussy-whipped weakling lapping at her heels and, for reasons that eluded him, the stray thought caused an oddly possessive sort of anger to swell in his chest.

Rationally, he had no reason to hate the human. The man was a cockroach; a vile little insect waiting to be stomped on. The baseball player / planetary defender was **so** far beneath Vegeta's notice that the prince couldn't believe he was wasting useful brain capacity storing the man's identity, let alone his valuable energy scorning the two-bit bastard. Besides, it was the blasted woman that was doing this to him. She and this fucked up mud ball of a planet were severely screwing with his biorhythms.

"_Stupid mating cycle._" Vegeta grit his teeth, forcing his sluggish logic to sift the factual from the imaginary. He didn't want the woman any more than she wanted him. He was just horny and bereft and she was the forbidden fruit -- within reach, but completely beyond his grasp. That was it. His attraction to her was no more than the lure of the unobtainable. Simple as that. Nothing else to it... Although the notion of killing her pathetic mate was still a titillating concept.

Perhaps once he disposed of Kakkarot he'd go after the scar-faced human. He rather liked what Nurami had done to the snivelling invertebrate. Maybe he'd elaborate on her manoeuvre; draw it out; increase the amount of pain being inflicted...

The Saiyan was distracted from his murderous reverie when the hollow pit where his stomach used to be announced itself with a vengeance, pointedly refusing to be ignored for another minute. Vegeta quickly searched for the woman's energy signature and was relieved to find that he had the mansion to himself again. He hopped off the bed and dressed in his training gear, heading down stairs to the kitchen where he was a little surprised to find the servo-bots diligently preparing a meal large enough to feed an army -- or a hungry Saiyan warrior. The robots were doing the cooking, but Bulma would've been the one to program them.

It occurred to him then that he hadn't wanted for a single thing since moving into this "Saiyan look-alike infested dome." Most of his needs, like this meal, were fulfilled without him even having to ask -- or threaten -- anyone to accomplish it. Come to think of it, he hadn't been treated **this** well since his brief existence as crown prince of the Saiyan Empire and it was all thanks to the teal-haired girl that had now officially become the object of his fantasies.

He snarled angrily at his own weakness, squashing the tiny glimmer of gratitude his line of thought was threatening to kindle. He was Vegeta, the Prince of all Saiyans, and soon-to-be strongest warrior in the Universe. He owed **nothing** to **no one**! Least of all some tragically weak Earthling woman whom he could crush with a mere thought! He never asked for her hospitality and he would've been just fine without it. If she was foolish enough to open her home to a cold-blooded killer and her best friend's worst enemy then that was entirely her business.

Did she think that if she was "nice" to him, he would refrain from killing her friends once he defeated Koola? If that was the case then the female was sadly mistaken!

He stomped his right foot to frighten off the small feline that had come to investigate the interesting flavours wafting from the kitchen and pushed off the door frame with a ragged sigh. Battling down his warring emotions, Vegeta found himself a seat and immediately dug into the pile of egg rolls the servo-bots had just set down.

All he needed was to fuel up and get a good workout in his GT-pod. Then everything would fall back into perspective...

-- 'Everything you want' by Vertical Horizon

Next Chapter: Party at Bulma's.

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Well, if you've read this far, then you either liked the chapter or you have **way** too much time on your hands... Either way, your opinion matters so go on and tell me what you thought of my handiwork. We authors really like that sort of thing and I'm writing exams so I need all the mood elevators I can get


	6. EVERYBODY NEEDS A FRIEND

Thanks to my beta-readers for doing a great job as always and to all you awesome folks who reviewed the last chapter. Especially to Pandora001 who took the time to review every single one. People like her make me all warm and fuzzy inside, so this here update is dedicated to her

Happy holidays to everyone!

**ACCIDENTAL REDEMPTION**

**By Evil Saint**

**VI. EVERYBODY NEEDS A FRIEND **

-- Have you ever buried your face in your hands

'Cause no one around you understands

Or has the slightest idea what it is that makes you be

Have you ever felt like there was more

Like someone else was keeping score

And what could make you whole was simply out of reach

Well I know

"I'm holding up just fine, Dad. I have to admit it was a tough first week, but the company's still afloat so I've gotta be doing something right." Bulma gushed into the cordless telephone, toying absently with the dainty pink ribbon at the neckline of her lavender and white flowered sundress. She was sprawled comfortably on the Italian leather sofa in the ground floor den with her head against the armrest and her father's cat pawing playfully at her newly straightened hair as it flowed over the side like a waterfall.

"That's good to hear, Princess. Your mother's having a ball over here. I'm afraid we're going to have to modify the house when we get back to make room for everything she's bought." Dr. Briefs chortled affectionately.

"I can imagine." Bulma giggled with him and cast an eye over the assortment of mementos already decorating the den and living room from all her parents' other trips overseas.

"Now Princess, it's terrific that things are going well at work, but how're you doing at home? That Vegeta boy isn't bothering you, is he? Because if he is..."

"Oh Daddy, I told you already, I can handle Vegeta."

"I know you think so Bulma, but the lad **does** have a temper and I must say I'm still not happy about you living alone with him. I just don't see why we can't get him a suite in a nice hotel in the city. He can use the pod while you're at work and since you **insist** on doing the maintenance work yourself, he can leave you a note of what needs to be done and you can do it in the evenings when he's away. Honestly Dear, there's no reason why you should..."

"Dad please, I **really** don't want to argue over this again. Vegeta stays and that's final..." Bulma interjected sternly "... but the first time he tries anything I'll have Goku kick him out. I promise, alright?" She assured, disregarding the little voice in her head reminding her that Vegeta had already bullied her on the very day her parents left.

Dr. Briefs sighed in surrender, but he was still far from pleased with the status quo.

"Very well, but **please** promise me you'll be careful around him..." Bulma was about to tell her dad not to worry, but he continued before she could speak "... and don't tell me not to worry about you. It's a father's privilege to be concerned about the wellbeing of his only daughter. You'll understand one day when you've got kids of your own."

"Better not let Mom hear you say that. You know how she gets at the smallest mention of grandchildren." Bulma jested, trying to lighten the mood. Her mother was very young when she married Dr. Teddy Briefs -- a man nearly twenty years her senior -- but with love, respect and a shared eccentricity that made it impossible to take anything too seriously, their marriage had stood the test of time. To Vicky Briefs, settling down and raising a family was the holy grail of achievements for a woman and ever since Bulma and Yamcha started dating she'd been dropping none-too-subtle hints about what an "adorable" couple they were and how "handsome" their children would be.

"I know, but she means well. Having you was the most joyous event of her life and she just wants you to be happy."

"I know Dad. Speaking of Mom, shouldn't you get going? By now she's probably got half the country up in arms looking for you." In Japan it was around nine in the morning, but for Bulma's parents it was the middle of the night. A lot of people would find it peculiar that the head of a multi-billion zenni company would take the time to personally inspect new laboratories, making sure that everything was up to scratch, but that was just another thing that set Capsule Corp. apart from its competitors. Her father had been working late in one of the recently finished facilities and decided to check up on his daughter before going home to his wife.

"Of course, you're right Bulma. Pet Scratch for me and don't forget, if you need me I'm just a phone call away. Anytime. Day or night." Bulma smiled warmly at her father's words. Dr. Briefs had high hopes for his sole heir and he was always driving Bulma to better herself at everything she did. He could be a harsh taskmaster, but he was also a devoted parent and he never failed to give her his support.

"Thanks Daddy. I love you guys and tell Mom I'll give her a call tonight."

"Will do Dearest. Have a good time with your friends and remember what I said about Vegeta. Your mother and I love you with all our hearts and we don't want anything bad to happen to you."

"I will. Bye Daddy."

"Goodbye Princess."

Bulma ended the call with a fond smile gracing her features. It was good to hear from her father, but now she seriously had to get her butt off the couch and start preparing for the party she was hosting in a few hours. She'd invited all the members of the Special Forces and their partners to take a break from training and pretend for a while that they weren't living in the shadow of imminent doom. Tien and Chao Tsu had taken a rain check in favour of intense meditation however, and she'd be surprised to see Piccolo's green, pointy-eared face. That left the Sons and Nurami, Yamcha, Krillin, Master Roshi and last and definitely least, Krillin's empty-headed nympho of girlfriend, Marron.

Krillin was one of the sweetest people Bulma knew, but he was short and bald and that didn't exactly do wonders for his popularity with the ladies. Resultantly he had low self-esteem and equally low standards when it came to the women he dated. Bulma was horrified when Krillin introduced her to the blue-haired hussy, beaming with pride as he announced that she was his new girlfriend.

That was a year ago and the skank had dumped him no less than three times since, only to come slithering back when she needed someone to sponge on. Poor Krillin took her in every time, hoping in vain that she would change. It pained Bulma to see one of her closest friends being treated like a doormat, but the monk could be extremely pigheaded and he refused to accept that Marron was only stringing him along until something bigger and better came her way. In his mind, she was a "misunderstood diamond in the rough" and he desperately believed that he would be the guy to make her shine.

Though Krillin was a little naïve, he wasn't stupid and Bulma knew that sooner or later he would wise up to Marron's true colours, but until that day came, she had no choice but to accommodate the bitch.

She hopped off the sofa, stretching with a jaw cracking yawn and bent down to flatten Scratch's ears against his head with a few purr-earning strokes before setting about her tasks. First she had to program the servo-bots to start cooking up a storm. She knew from years of experience with Goku that one Saiyan could shovel down the same amount of food in a single sitting as a human ate in a week and today she had to cater for four of them, plus six Earthlings. She'd decapsulated all the spare house bots to make sure that she wouldn't be shorthanded and they were lined up in the kitchen, awaiting her instructions. A large electronic panel on the wall separating the kitchen from the living room formed the central controls for all the house drones and she walked over to it, beginning to feed the needed data into the servo-bots. She hummed a little tune while listening detachedly to the soft beeps and chirps emanating from the robots as they were activated one by one, scurrying off to complete their given assignments.

Bulma's head snapped up worriedly when the sound of thunder split the air. A rainstorm was the last thing she needed today. She listened intently, inspecting the horizon through the circular window to her right for any sign of an ominous cloud, but the skies were clear and she realised with relief that it was only Vegeta retiring another battle drone to the scrapheap. The Saiyan had been training rigorously since yesterday and the sporadic explosion was the only hint that he was still alive. The state of the kitchen when she came down for breakfast indicated that he'd gotten something to eat during the night though, and despite the mess, Bulma was glad to know that he had. It seemed that all her persistent hounding since his accident was finally getting through to him.

He operated on stamina derived purely from mulish obsession and sometimes he lost track of his health in his quest for the "Legendary Power." He strove for excellence and second best would never be good enough. He would succeed; or die trying. He had proven as much when the gravity pod overloaded under the strain of his ambition -- perfectionism being at once his pillar of strength and feet of clay. Never before had she known anyone, other than herself, to pursue a goal -- questionable as it may be -- with such fierce dedication and that was why she understood that he would quite literally kill himself to achieve his objective if left unsupervised.

Needless to say, Vegeta was less than taken with her sudden concern for his wellbeing and her interference had sparked many a heated verbal showdown between the two of them over the course of the past eight weeks -- which she found strangely enjoyable. Vegeta had a razor-sharp tongue, but he also had a wicked sense of humour and she often had to stifle a laugh so as not to lose face in front of him when they argued. She gave as good as she got, to be sure, yet he never shied away from her fire like all the others did when they ignited her temper. In fact, he was the first person that ever came close to matching her in a battle of wits and she had to admit that she was impressed, as well as a little flattered. He wouldn't have wasted time sparring with her if he didn't consider her a worthy opponent. And that meant, in his own warped way, he respected her, which was more than most humans could say!

Issuing another set of orders to one of her little helpers, Bulma wondered pensively if she'd be able to cajole the Saiyan Prince into having lunch with her and the gang on the veranda later. She knew several people wouldn't be happy about it, but it was her party for the Special Forces and for all practical purposes Vegeta **was** a member -- however reluctantly -- and she wanted him to feel like part of the group. He'd probably laugh in her face anyway, but she had to try. His moods were so hard to read that she couldn't be sure, but he seemed to be royally offended by her appraisal of the previous day and for some masochistic reason, Bulma felt the need to redeem herself.

You'd swear he'd never been checked out by a woman before with the way he reacted, but what did he expect? Just when she'd gotten used to him strutting his stuff in skin-tight stretch fabric he had to up his game with the whole "wet-look and a towel" bit. She was only made of flesh and blood. How frigid would a girl have to be not to respond to an Adonis like him standing practically naked and dripping in the middle of her kitchen?!

A blush crept up her cheeks when she remembered what Nurami had told her about her race's sense of smell... From what Bulma had learned about the Saiyan mating cycle, it wasn't hard to solve the mystery behind Vegeta's periodic disappearances and in all likelihood he still had sex on the brain when he returned. The prince probably got wind of her attraction and thought she wanted to jump his bones, but maybe if he saw her with her boyfriend he'd feel less threatened or whatever the hell it was that got his tail in a knot.

Bulma knew that she should've felt guilty about scoping out the Saiyan just before getting prettied up for her long-time beau, but the self-recrimination just wouldn't come. Yamcha skimmed the menu every chance he got after all; there was no reason she couldn't do the same every once in a while. However, the man made no secret of his vendetta against the Saiyans and he was always badgering her about her decision to open her home to the alien warrior. She assured him that her sole purpose was to keep Vegeta from running amok and that the Briefs were the only people who could provide the roguish warrior with the right distractions to keep him occupied and out of trouble. But Yamcha had never completely bought her explanation and he would blow his top if he ever found out how much Vegeta turned her on. If she invited the prince to lunch and he said something incriminating to Yamcha, Bulma would have the devil to pay.

So why was she still more resolute to have Vegeta present at one lousy meal, than daunted by Yamcha's potential ire?

The question unsettled the woman and finding an answer required too much introspection for the current time and place. With a deep cleansing breath and a shake of her head Bulma left it hanging and hurriedly finished the bots' programming, before fleeing to the pool deck -- where the gravity pod was out of sight and its occupant out of mind -- to decorate the area in the traditional Japanese style for the for the coming celebration.

--------------

Three hours later the decorations were up, the cooking was done and the tables were set. Bulma was in the living room, encapsulating the last of the excess servo-bots when a loud hammering on the front door alerted her to the arrival of her first guests. She shifted the capsules aside and immediately streaked to the foyer, grinning broadly as she opened the door.

"Goku!" She crowed as the wood swung away, caught up in the excitement of seeing her oldest friend for the first time in months.

"Hi Bulma!" Goku cried, pulling her into a throttling bear hug. Bulma squeezed back as hard as she could, giggling giddily before pulling away and looked to the demi-Saiyans whose once friendly poking match had now escalated into a full-fledged brawl.

"Hi you two!"

"Hi ya Bulma."

"'larim." They spoke simultaneously; jumbling the words as they letup for a moment in acknowledgement of Bulma's greeting, only to lunge at each other immediately afterward. Bulma and Goku laughed, but quieted at once when a shrill voice rang up from beside Goku, making them all wince at the unexpected assault on their eardrums.

"Stop it, both of you! And Gohan, put that thing away!" The children halted in mid-spar with Gohan's fist tangled in Nurami's shaggy mane and her arm outstretched in an apparent grab for his thrashing tail -- or "that thing" that needed to be put away as his mother liked to call it. One blushed and the other scowled as they disentangled themselves.

"Hello Chi Chi." Bulma smiled stiffly as she turned to the last member of the Son party: a petite, dark-haired woman, clothed in an oriental-style dress of rich violet fabric and a matching shawl. Bulma had never really liked the brash former martial artist, but Chi Chi was Goku's wife and Gohan's mother and it was important to their friendship that she made an effort to get along with her.

"Hello Bulma." Chi Chi replied curtly with an insincere bow. Bulma suppressed the urge to roll her eyes and addressed the group.

"Geez it's good to see you guys again! Please, come in." She said hospitably, and with a grand gesture invited them into the house. Once indoors, Bulma led the small entourage to the living room and told them to get comfortable. She was going to fetch refreshments when Goku called her back.

"Oh yeah, before I forget, here are those senzu beans you asked for." He dug around in the pocket of his trousers, pulling out a small brown pouch and handed it to Bulma.

"... I'm sorry it took so long, but they're kinda hard to come by."

"That's fine Goku. I just wanna have a few on standby in case Vegeta blows up the GT-pod again."

"That's smart Bulma. I'm just glad he came out of it OK."

Chi Chi snorted distastefully and Bulma had to stop herself from cursing at the woman.

"Be right back." She said and left the room to stash the beans in the upstairs medicine locker, before getting drinks from the kitchen. It would be wonderful to see all her friends together again, but between Chi Chi and Krillin's perverted old hermit of a sensei it was going to be a long day. She could only hope that the revival of the K-meister's love life would be tolerable for a change.

"_Ha,_ _fat chance._" Bulma resigned as she gathered up a tray with glasses and a pitcher of ice tea and returned to her friends to catch up on the latest news while the kids went outside to spar.

Yamcha showed up twenty minutes after Goku and co, followed shortly by the Kame Island crew. Marron was already dressed in her bathing suit -- a very skimpy leopard-pattern top and thong combo, rounded off by a short golden mesh skirt that didn't serve any purpose other than accentuating her naked ass and instantly rendered her the focal point for male attention. Bulma did her best to ignore the little trollop's blithe fawning over her boyfriend and laboured to keep her jealousy in check when Yamcha actually reciprocated the flirting. She was cheered up though, when Chi Chi justified her presence by smacking the sport star upside the head and sending Marron a glare that had her cowering behind her escort.

After everyone had changed into their swimwear -- giving Marron some healthy competition from the other two women -- they headed out onto the veranda where buffet tables were creaking under the truckload of food the house robots had prepared for lunch.

"Wow." Was Goku's awed comment as his gaze roamed over the assortment of dishes, his dark eyes wide and shimmering as though the Eternal Dragon had just granted his lifelong wish. Bulma smiled knowingly and beckoned to the group to sit at the huge wrought iron patio table she'd imported especially for the day's festivities.

"Help yourselves guys. I'm-just-gonna-go-see-how-Vegeta's-doing. Be right back." Bulma talked at a speed that scrambled her words and dashed off before anyone could decipher what she'd said...

--------------

The combat robots' strategies were proving tiresomely predictable and Vegeta had shut the surviving two down out of sheer aggravation. They were overdue for an upgrade, but after yesterday's events, he was steering clear of Bulma at all costs and had decided to perfect his katas in place of sparring. He'd been exercising in 380 times normal gravity for nineteen full hours with only a couple of bathroom breaks and a quick meal's worth of rest, and he could feel the foul breath of fatigue panting down his neck. Nonetheless, he stubbornly refused to heed his body's pleas for sleep and nourishment, soldiering on with nothing but deviant willpower fuelling his aching muscles, and he was determined not to stop until all weakness had been expunged from his system... his physical constraints... his recent emotional disarray... the eddying thoughts of the woman obscuring his aims and dividing his focus...

Perspiration was streaming down his bare torso and his face was flustered with exertion as he performed a very long and intricate routine for the twelfth time, when the vid-com flashed to life, breaking his concentration.

"Hi there, can I have a word?"

"_Speak of the Devil..._"

"This had better be good!" He snapped, beating down the impulse to sling an energy blast at the imposing visage on the huge screen.

"Um... can we talk in person please? It won't take long, I promise."

"_What the fuck does she want now_?" Vegeta thought irritably. Ever since his stupid accident two months ago, the woman had gotten the deranged impression that he needed a pacer and was constantly interrupting his training "to check on him." He hated her infernal mollycoddling. He was the Saiyan Prince for Kami's sake! Not some senseless cub that required constant supervision to keep from hurting himself. He'd put too much faith in the human made generator and overloaded the hunk of junk; he'd learned from his mistake and was being mindful not to repeat it, but if he wanted to **kill** himself training then it was none of her damned business!

She was an only child however, Daddy's little Princess, and she was used to getting her way. He'd shunned her in the beginning, but the woman could nag more persistently than any spoiled three-year-old if she felt like it and -- as ripping her vocal cords out wasn't in the cards -- he found that the fastest way to get rid of her was to do what she wanted.

He padded over to the control console and shut the simulation off, punched in the code to unseal the door and waited. When she didn't enter he became impatient and marched over to the hatch, yanking it open with every intention of giving her an earful, but nearly swallowed his tongue at the sight that greeted him. Bulma was standing there, dressed almost exactly like the courtesans of his father's royal harem. Only her breasts and femininity were concealed with a few scraps of silvery-blue material and a gauzy white sarong was knotted under her bellybutton, parting scandalously at the front as it flowed to her ankles. He realised that her hair was different as well. The blue curls that used to float around her head like puffy clouds had been replaced by sleek, shimmering tresses that cascaded down her back and over her shoulders like finely spun silk, reminding him of gossamer dazzling in the sun's first rays. He'd been certain that her teasing behaviour of the previous afternoon was unintentional -- an accident born of ignorance -- but now he wasn't so sure anymore...

Vegeta stood mesmerized as his eyes roamed longingly over her enchanting curves, but he caught himself before she noticed him staring.

"**What, Woman?!**" He spat rudely, trying to break the spell the little sky nymph had cast on him. She flinched at his caustic timbre and for an instant she looked as though she regretted intruding on his workout.

"Hey Vegeta. Sorry to interrupt, but you've been in here an awfully long time and... well... we're having lunch by the pool and I was wondering if maybe you'd like to join us? It's really a lot of fun." She sounded nervous and kept shifting her weight from one leg to the other as she spoke.

His mood changed bluntly from lust to annoyance. He couldn't believe she was interrupting him for **this**. Did she actually think he would waste his precious time mingling with her and her idiotic posse when he should be training to kick their asses?

"I'd **love** to!" He replied enthusiastically, schooling his cruel lips into a warm smile. Bulma blinked in surprise, unsure if she'd heard right.

"Really?" She asked hopefully, pleased that Vegeta wasn't being as big of a jerk as she'd expected.

"**No!**" He shouted in all seriousness and slammed the door in her face.

He spun on his heel and stalked to the controls, reactivating the gravity simulation with a violence that all but shattered the computer's keys. He stood panting, white-knuckled fists at his sides and steeled himself against the mounting pressure, keen to take his grievance with the woman out on her inventions. The remaining two drones' censors lit up and Vegeta grinned fiendishly as they rose into the air above him, a pair of circling kites honing in on their prey. An animalistic war cry was flung from his throat and his coal black eyes burned red with the battle fury of the Oozaru rippling through his soul, his sore muscles bulging with raw strength as he powered up.

He leapt into the air and attacked, striking at the drones with a volley of energy balls. As expected, the crackling spheres ricocheted off the robots' forcefields, hurtling back at the warrior at breakneck speed. Despite looming exhaustion, Vegeta eluded the blasts with little effort, swerving around the first and ducking under the second, sparks flying as the shielded and reinforced titanium walls absorbed the impact. He deflected the third ball with a mighty swing of his arm, sending it back at the drones and fired another three after it to commence a deadly game of pinball.

In a matter of seconds he had half a dozen zooming projectiles to contend with, but the bots' tactics were painfully foreseeable and he was steadily loosing interest in the battle as he dodged, parried and neutralized the orbs with dreary ease. He had hoped that fighting the drones would distract him enough to purge the image of the woman's indecently clothed body from his mind, but it seemed to be branded onto his retinas. To make matters worse, the tedium of the bots' manoeuvres was drawing attention to their need for a software update, making him think of Bulma and adding to his disconcertion.

With a guttural roar of frustration, he smacked the last of the energy balls into the ship's hull, causing it to disperse and sprang at the nearest robot. He let loose with a flurry of punches and kicks, yelling obscenities as he smashed its censors, pulverized the casing and crushed the circuits and microchips that served as the machine's brain.

The Saiyan screamed in rage when laser fire from the last battle-bot singed his shoulder and whipped around with bloody murder in his crimson gaze. He reacted without pause, seizing the mangled drone and spun around once to gain momentum before throwing it at its counterpart, a number of energy blasts following in quick succession. The doomed machines went ramming into the hull with a deafening clang of metal against metal and then an explosion resounded through the pod as the electric spheres impacted as well, reducing the unshielded drones to smears of smoking alloy on the craft's wall.

Vegeta stayed suspended in the air for a minute or two, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he gulped oxygen into his burning lungs. Gradually, his poise came back to him and the blood drained from his irises, returning them to their normal shade of cold, hard onyx. He wiped the corrosive sweat out of his eyes and descended gracefully to the floor, intending to practice his forms again, but when he touched down a sense of futility overcame him and the will to train dissipated like an energy blast against the wall. The warrior ran an agitated hand through his hair and squeezed the stiff muscle of his shoulder a few times before conceding defeat. He moved to the computer to deactivate the gravity simulation and sagged to the floor with his back propped against the control unit's side panel, trying to return some order to his chaotic psyche.

Vegeta was angry with himself. When he started his training on this world, he vowed that he would not become soft like Kakkarot. He swore he would not let these people and their mundane way of life influence him. He had seen too many warriors disgraced by succumbing to the flaws of the very cultures they were sent to conquer and he'd made an oath that he would not let that happen to **him**, but of late he wasn't keeping that promise; not as he should...

Ever since his damned accident, the woman was on his mind constantly, worming her way under his skin and distorting his focus. He'd known all along that her kind was dangerous. They distracted men from their aspirations and made them compromise their purpose, weakening resolve and softening the brain. Wars had been fought and kingdoms lost on account of a pretty face and that was why he preferred to go to her father when his contraptions needed repair or improvement. But now, with the old bastard delinquently gallivanting about the planet, the prince had no choice but to turn to Bulma to fulfil his technological needs. He'd no longer be able to avoid her as he had in the past and Vegeta frowned at himself when that thought inspired a sensation much closer to eager anticipation than the sour apprehension he should've experienced.

She and her family had shown him tremendous generosity while all he had to repay them with were threats and sarcasm. Yet they continued to feed him, clothe him, house him and spend mountains of money on training devices that he merely wrecked without a word of thanks. He knew that the old doctor had wanted to evict him on several occasions already and that it was purely because of Bulma's persistence that he wasn't given the boot. Her motives for acting as his advocate weren't quite clear to him, though.

All that made sense was that she was obeying her instincts of self-preservation. She was afraid of Koola, and the stronger the Earth's defenders were, the higher her chances of survival would be when the monstrous lizard made his début. But that didn't explain the little things she did, like having his room decorated in his favourite colour after pestering him for weeks to learn it, or waking him from his nightmares when he was hurt and bedridden... or like inviting him to have lunch with her and her stupid friends simply to have him around.

Oftentimes he was needlessly snide with her, testing to see how far he could push her before she'd had it with his bullshit, but no matter what he did she never seemed to tire of trying and that was what confounded the Saiyan to no end.

He needed guidance to sort out his preoccupation with the woman before it got out of control, but the only Earthling he could talk to was the very reason for his calamity. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he rested his head against the cool metal at his back and found himself actually missing Raditz. When he was a boy, the third-class seemed to have an answer for every problem and over the years he'd taken for granted that the man would always be there, ready to give advice when he sought it.

Raditz was barely in his teens when the Saiyans were erased from existence. His and Nappa's lives were saved by the fact that they'd been off on a purging mission in the Yur Sadi system when Planet Vegeta was obliterated and they ended up joining Frieza's army to serve under their prince. Nappa was useful as far as brute strength was concerned, and he made an excellent training dummy, but it was the commoner that ultimately became invaluable as Vegeta's council and right-hand man.

The soldier had an average powerlevel by Saiyan standards, but he was extremely intelligent and he'd taught the prince a great deal about everything from basic spaceship mechanics to "the birds and the bees." Like any other of his caste, Raditz was fanatic in his loyalty to the royal Clan of Vegeta and he took it upon himself to safeguard the last surviving member of the monarchy as far as it was within his limited abilities to do so. He was helpless to defend the child prince against Frieza's abuse, but he could carry the boy to the medical bay when he was too gravely injured to move, often making the difference between life and death under the androgynous reptile's tyranny.

If Vegeta had known how Raditz' mission to Earth would've turned out, he'd have opposed it more fervently on Dargad, or at least have allowed the girl to accompany him -- instead of adding another entry to the logbook of his failings.

The sentiment was jarring and he pushed it away ruthlessly, binding the icy hands of loneliness that threatened to enclose the lump of flesh known as his heart.

Inactivity was bad for him. Even in childhood he couldn't find a moment's peace without the ghouls and goblins of his psychosis sneaking up on him to infect his thoughts, always dredging up some diabolical recollection from the cesspool that was his subconscious. He'd ride out then like the death-knight he was and deal in hurt and torture, wrenching the turmoil from his own torn spirit to inflict it on others, but now that escape had been boarded shut.

He wasn't up for more training and he was too disgruntled to meditate. So maybe some fresh air and food **would** do him good.

He pushed off the floor with a discontent sigh and trudged to the door of the tiny living space adjacent to the pod's training room. He went into the cramped bathroom and washed his face, found a towel to dry his sweat-glazed torso and dressed his wounds before changing into the Earth clothes Bulma's mother had acquired for him. He didn't much care for human fashions, but he liked this outfit -- dark denim jeans, boots and a black shirt with a silver dragon reminiscent of Shenron printed on the back. He specifically housed it in the GT-pod's small dresser to prevent it from getting swallowed up in the huge, unused wardrobe that Blondie had amassed in his room.

After pulling on the pants and boots, he twined his tail around his midsection and let the soft material of the shirt drape over it, making sure that the appendage was as inconspicuous as possible. He'd sensed a few unfamiliar energy signatures and he didn't have the patience to deal with a hail of annoying questions, should he run into someone unacquainted with his origins. Once he was satisfied that he wouldn't have to take needless crap from an ignorant human, he strutted regally to the gravity room's console and opened the hatch, heading out into the merry summer sunshine.

-- 'Have you ever' by The Offspring

Next Chapter: Not suitable for Marron fans...

Don't be stingy with those reviews, ya hear?!


	7. BREAKING THE ICE

Yay for everyone who reviewed chapter6! I hope Santa brings you the presents of everyone who didn't (grins evilly). Now give a big round of applause for my fabulous beta-readers, Shen Long, Meliza Mac and Kyra Fable for spending their Christmas-shopping time correcting this chapter. You guys are awesome! Last but not least, thanks again to everyone who supported me throughout this year, be it by beta-ing or posting a review. I couldn't have got this far without you guys!

**ACCIDENTAL REDEMPTION**

**By Evil Saint**

**VII. BREAKING THE ICE**

--But I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell  
I know right now you can't tell  
But stay awhile and maybe then you'll see  
A different side of me

The warmth of the midday sun enfolded the warrior prince like gentle embrace, but the glare was less forgiving and he had to lift a hand to shade his eyes from the sharp shards of light pricking his pupils. The breeze was full of jasmine and lotus blossoms and the sound of laughter and lively music drifted from the patio to caress his ears -- a siren's call lulling his marginal sanity and luring him to his downfall.

Before he came to this place, such scents and sounds were unknown to him; before he came here, his presence always heralded screams of terror, the stench of death and skies blackened with smoke from the burning pyres that were once mighty cities...

These were the thoughts swirling through Vegeta's mind as he furtively neared a huddle of trees skirting the pool area, leaning against a sturdy cedar to observe the festivities from afar. Looking upon the twittering Earthlings, he felt like a voyeur, vicariously drinking in their unity and joy, but ultimately unwelcome in their midst.

His attention was immediately drawn to Bulma as she tossed the shiny mass of her hair over to one side with a swing of her head, causing it to flash brightly as light reflected off the silken strands. With her front to Vegeta, she bent over to ladle some sashimi onto Yamcha's plate, unwittingly affording Master Roshi, who was sitting next to her, unrestricted access to her posterior. With a shriek the woman righted herself as the geriatric lecher's palms cupped her pert cheeks and in a fluent motion she smacked him full across the face with the soy-drenched spoon in her hand, knocking the old geezer's sunglasses askew and smearing his visage with the spicy sauce covering the utensil.

Vegeta smirked at the sight. The woman was no pushover. Not only that, she was breathtaking when riled.

Although he was standing at a distance, his keen predatory eyesight picked up the lightning in her cobalt irises; the furious flush that painted her skin; the rise and fall of her heaving bosom as she accosted the horrid old man for his audacity...

His smirk faltered as his eyes rested on her useless mate to evaluate his reaction. The man just chuckled, shaking his head, before digging into his food. If another dared to touch a Saiyan's mate in that fashion the offender would loose an arm, but the human just laughed it off as though the woman's honour was meaningless to him. Vegeta felt a snarl twist his mouth as he wrestled with the urge to march over there and pound both Roshi and Yamcha into the ground, but the sulky voice of a child distracted him from his inner struggle.

"You cheated. That wasn't fair." Kakkarot's cub complained, and Vegeta turned his head to see the half-breeds approaching from the large lawn opposite the GT-pod where they'd been sparring. They were both dressed in loose-fitting slacks with their tails tucked safely under grass stained T-shirts, but the similarities in apparel did little to vanquish the differences in their upbringing.

"There's no such thing as a fair fight, Gohan. The sooner you learn that, the longer you'll live." The female admonished coolly as they set out to join the partygoers. The boy began voicing a rebuff as they passed the tiny grove, but trailed off almost immediately; his audience lost as Nurami stopped walking and turned to Vegeta.

"... Elarim zuja Ra'an." The girl greeted her liege in their home language, bowing reverently in accordance with the long forgotten custom of the Vegetan court -- just as her late mentor had taught her. Vegeta's half formed snarl curved into a lopsided smirk at the young fighter's recognition of his title. It was nice to get some respect for a change.

"Akri ha dai." The prince grunted, acknowledging her. At that, Nurami straightened to attention, eyes front with her left arm held rigid at her side and slammed her right fist on her chest in a traditional salute. Then she relaxed and turned to her stupefied companion, glaring expectantly at him.

"H-hello mister Vegeta, sir." The boy choked out, pressing his hands together in front of his chest and dipped his head as his mother had instructed him to do when greeting someone of importance. The girl gaped at Gohan, quirking an incredulous brow at the whole exchange before looking back to Vegeta. Evidently she thought he was going to incinerate the cub for his lack of etiquette.

"Take a hike, whelp." Vegeta growled, masking his amusement with a generous amount of malevolence in his timbre. At that, the girl grabbed the boy by the cuff of his neck and practically dragged him behind her as she made a beeline for the crowded veranda, all the while lecturing him on proper conduct when addressing Saiyan royalty.

Vegeta's gaze trailed the hybrid duo as they ventured over to the Earthlings and his eyes settled on Nurami. He watched with mild intrigue as she chose a seat next to Gohan on the Son family's side of the table, looking disturbingly comfortable with the whole setup. Her appearance had changed so dramatically over the past months that he wouldn't have recognised her if not for her energy signature. Although she was still way too skinny and pale to even **begin** resembling an authentic Saiyan female, she'd grown into a fine warrior and the prince had to concede that he finally understood what Raditz had seen in her six years ago...

--------------

Vegeta and his subordinates had just returned from a highly profitable pirating mission on the outskirts of the Kilanrad galaxy and were underway to enjoy eight well deserved hours of rest and relaxation on one of the leisure planets the system was renowned for.

Upon arrival, each of the three battle-kin set off to give in to their individual vices. Nappa headed for the local battle arena while Raditz went off in search of the nearest casino. Vegeta, who had woken up that morning with the beginnings his first rut in over a year, set a course for the tavern district in hopes of hunting down a willing wench to assuage his burning urges.

He could barely contain his excitement as he made his way along the city streets in search of an establishment that would suit his purpose. A consenting female would be an almost exotic change from his routine, seeing how the only obtainable women he ever came in contact with were the terrified inhabitants of the worlds he purged and of course they were never eager for his attention. None of the female warriors in Frieza's legions would so much as be seen talking to him and even the disease-ridden whores of the Li Narag were too terrified to glance in his direction; all because of the lizard and his twisted fetish...

The Frost Emperor had always been a connoisseur of the finest delicacies the Universe had to offer and he had an eye for pretty things. He liked keeping souvenirs from the races he decimated -- especially of the more durable varieties -- and he had a large "collection" of fine featured youngsters perpetually loitering around his palace on Dargad, ready to indulge his sinister pleasures. Most of the children were the last of their kind, descendants from their planets' noble or royal bloodlines. Even Zarbon, Frieza's second in command, had been the heir to the throne of Zunódaa before the planet was purged and it was no secret that he had been the Iceling's favourite bed warmer since boyhood.

Vegeta was twelve years old and halfway through puberty when the serpent visited the base on Calya Nine where he was stationed and had him summoned to his lair for "initiation." He suspected that the only reason he hadn't been called on sooner was because Frieza was very hard on his "toys" and the vile warlord had been biding his time, waiting patiently for the Saiyan Prince to become strong enough to survive the depravities he had in mind for him. Vegeta had been in the adder's employ for a full decade by then. He'd grown up with the whispered rumours and hushed renditions of the monster's sick pleasures as his bedtime stories and he had a pretty vivid mental picture of what the deplorable mutant intended to do to him once they were alone in his rooms.

The regal youth had been Frieza's lapdog for as long as he could remember, but he was **not** about to become the lizard's bitch. The beatings and harassment he'd suffered all his life were bad enough, but Vegeta doubted whether even he had the strength of mind to endure after such perverted violation. He'd rather burn in hell than tolerate the Iceling's claws against his skin and the prince made sure to tell "his master" as much before he began to power up. He knew of course, that he had no chance of defeating the Ice Lord in a fight, as Frieza so scathingly pointed out. Combat, however, was not Vegeta's aim as he let his energy burst free from his control and deliberately neglected to regulate the flow, causing it to destabilize.

Frieza stopped laughing instantaneously when his purple and black bedchamber was set ablaze and Vegeta screamed in a mixture of pain and delight at hearing the overlord's shrill cursing. The Saiyan could feel his very cells blister and boil with the heat generated from the rampant energy, burning through him like a wildfire that would incinerate his body and hopefully take a large chunk of the Emperor's precious base with him. Suicide was not an appropriate death for the last Prince of Vegeta, but it was preferable to the life of a whore in the reptile's vast harem of warriors / concubines.

Vegeta's self-sacrificial stand was not destined to reach fruition however, as a powerful dampening dart bit into his flesh, abruptly neutralizing his malignant energy in flash of blue and white light.

Frieza had stopped the handsome youth from killing himself there and then in his rooms, but the Saiyan had left no doubt in his mind that he would take his own life the first chance he got, rather than live with the shame of having his body desecrated. If the lizard wanted to use the prince as a pleasure slave he'd have to keep him shackled in energy dampeners at all times, which would render him useless as a sentinel, and **that** was where his true worth lay. Vegeta's squad was second only to the Ginyu Force when it came to establishing Frieza's word as law and though it galled the warlord to acknowledge it, he couldn't readily afford to lose such an effective enforcer, obliging him to send the boy to the regen-tanks without claiming his prize.

That did not mean that Vegeta's disobedience would go unpunished. The Ice Lord didn't take kindly to rejection and he announced that henceforth **any** female, soldier or slave, so much as suspected of copulating with the Saiyan Prince would be put to death by Frieza personally.

"If the monkey won't fuck his lord and keeper, he won't fuck at all."

Vegeta had been expecting far worse and at first he didn't think much of the supposed punishment. He'd never wanted to be near any of the filthy bitches to begin with and so Frieza was only denying him something he had no desire to possess -- until his first Unrak Nagul hit him like a herd of stampeding Kodo beasts...

Cruel as ever, the reptile enforced the proclamation with an iron fist, turning the royal Saiyan's random fevers -- due to his irregular exposure to a catalyzing moon -- into near maddening instruments of torment. It got so bad that Vegeta even considered forcing himself on the ship's whores. He didn't care if they got killed, but Frieza had never stipulated what the consequences would be for the prince if he defied him on this aspect. When all was said and done Vegeta had gotten off lightly considering what the lizard had planned for him and he was privately fearful of a rematch in the Icelings chambers. Honour had always been an unaffordable luxury in Frieza's legions and at last Vegeta was driven to tarnish his further by using women during purges behind the Iceling's back, just to calm his incessant hormones. It was like a hot poker through his pride each time a woman screamed her refusal to the heavens, but neither the moon nor his flesh had any mercy for him and so he had none to spare. Thus any deviation from the norm was exceedingly precious to the virile young man, and since he had no way of knowing when Frieza would be feeling generous again, he planned to take full advantage of this little vacation...

It took him a while to track down the least sleazy inn in the city and he'd been sitting at the bar for an hour without success, sipping his second drink while drumming his fingers on the countertop in aggravation.

"_Of course the fucking lizard would dump me on a **reptilian** homeworld..._" Vegeta brooded angrily from his vantage point at the front of the room. He hadn't seen so much as one other mammal since landing on the weak excuse for a leisure planet and he was getting desperate, thinking what a marvellous joke it would be if he returned to Frieza's ship without a single conquest to his credit. In all likelihood that was precisely what the insidious Iceling was bargaining on. He growled in vexation, his eyes combing the literally scaly crowd for the umpteenth time in another fruitless search for a worthwhile candidate, when a strange hissing voice rose up from behind him.

"Hi there soldier. New in town?" Vegeta turned around and assessed the creature the voice belonged to. He had never encountered the like before, but her scent told him that she was a female of her species and at first glance she looked compatible enough to satisfy his requirements. The "girl" was gangling with lurid yellow skin and rotund black eyes. When she blinked, he saw that she had both a horizontal and vertical set of eyelids that retracted completely when open, causing her oversized orbs to protrude slightly. Vegeta arched a brow as his tantalite gaze left her face to rake over her scantily clad body, albeit there wasn't much to conceal. She was an amphibian of sorts and lacked the feminine endowments of mammalian races, but -- if he ignored the flaring gills -- she wasn't **completely** unattractive.

A final scan of the room told him he couldn't expect to find any better and so, grinding his teeth in subdued frustration, he surrendered to his limited selection.

"_She's better than nothing for fuck's sake, just close your eyes and pretend she's a Saiyan._"

"I just arrived..." He answered her opening question, trying hard to keep the revulsion out of his voice "...want to keep me company?" He added, forcing his grossed out grimace to curl into a suggestive smirk. The girl grinned at his response and Vegeta made a mental note to refrain from oral sex as her multiple rows of needle-like teeth gleamed in the poor lighting.

"Certainly. I just adore a man in uniform." She hissed, placing a large webbed "hand" on his shoulder and dragged her clawed digits over the chest plate of his armour as she moved around to stand in front of him. Vegeta knew the creature's interest had a lot more to do with the credit crystals strung around his wrist than his attire, but her motives were of little relevance to him.

"Mmm, endothermic...I like that." She whispered, letting her long black tongue shoot out to caress the shell of his ear from a good thirty centimetres away.

"_Better than nothing...Better than nothing...Better than nothing...**Shit!** Why in the name of the Legendary couldn't Saiyans just be asexual?_" Vegeta thought as he ran his hands across the bare planes of her back. Even through his gloves her skin felt cold and clammy, almost slimy to the touch -- like a week old corpse. He pulled away from her probing tongue, suppressing a shudder of disgust.

"How about I buy us a round?" Vegeta offered, still smirking and praying that his voice didn't betray his distaste.

"Or I could show you my room. I promise you'll like it." She quipped, resting her elbows on the bar to lock eyes with him while grinding her pelvis against his, wringing a muffled grunt from the needy prince.

"I'm very thirsty." He answered flatly, pushing her backward with laboured gentility and crossed his legs to prohibit access to his groin, signalling to the bartender that he wanted to order.

"Suit yourself." She croaked, obviously disappointed that the warm-blooded warrior didn't share her enthusiasm to get down to business and moved away to plop down on the stool next to him.

"Bring me a two bottles of the strongest you have and get her whatever she wants." He snapped when the barkeep made his way over to them, indicating his newfound friend with a jerk of his head. The barman nodded and moved to the amphibian to take her order, giving Vegeta the opportunity to guzzle down the drink he'd been nursing for the past half-hour in one quick gulp. Even in his sorry state, it was going to take a lot of persuading to convince his body to react sensually to the salamander next to him and the sooner he got mind-numbingly drunk the better...

Some time later he awoke naked and alone in an unknown room with a pounding hangover and a sorely empty stomach, but at least the ache in his groin was bearable again. He had no recollection of how he'd gotten to the room and only vague flashes of what took place there; but he was thankful for it. He inhaled deeply with his eyes still closed against the throbbing in his skull, consoled by the knowledge that for once he would be spared the humiliation of having to soothe his frenzied instincts with an unwilling partner.

After several minutes, he gathered his strength and lackadaisically dragged himself out of the dirty bed he'd been sleeping in to scavenge for his clothes. He located his scouter beneath his elastic bodysuit near the door and dropped down on the floor, checking the time to determine how much remained of his vacation. He was stunned to find that he'd been out for a solid five hours! He had no idea what the clear fluid was that the barman had brought him after he'd hooked up with the garish whore, but evidently it was far more potent than he'd thought. Normally his Saiyan anatomy metabolised toxins too quickly for it to have any lasting influence on him, but this time he was feeling the full effects of his booze binge. And with only an hour of free time left, he'd barely have a chance to sober up before having to return to the Li Narag.

He tried to stand on wobbly legs, causing his oxygen-deprived brain to throb in protest. His vision blurred and a wave of nauseating dizziness turned his stomach upside down. He stumbled and fell to his knees. Spasms ran through his oesophagus and a rancid concoction of alcohol and digestive acid spilled from his mouth onto the floor. He continued to wretch until his throat was raw and his stomach was spent, but the spasms didn't cease until he was reduced to a shivering heap of sweaty, pale flesh on the floor.

"_Well isn't this the portrait of royal dignity? Pity my father isn't here to see me now._" Vegeta though in self-mockery, when a beeping noise from his scouter's communicator pierced his ears and skewered his cerebrum, making cognition of any kind impossible. He acted on compulsion alone and found the device with fumbling fingers, bringing it up to his ear and opening the channel. He didn't care who was on the other end of the line or what they had to say, he simply wanted the screeching to stop.

"Vegeta here." He rasped breathlessly, his head pounding with every syllable he spoke.

"Elarim Your Highness." Raditz' voice boomed from the earpiece and Vegeta winced in discomfort.

"What do you want?! And stop screaming!" He could practically hear his subordinate raise a quizzical brow as his leader's condition became apparent.

"Forgive me Vegeta..." Raditz spoke lowly, trying to spare his prince any unnecessary suffering "... but I have something I need you to inspect. Please meet me at the docking gate next to Midaiu Square as soon as you're able. I assure you, it is of crucial importance, Sire. I would not have bothered you otherwise. Raditz out." Vegeta should've been miffed at the man for ending the call so vaguely, but the ensuing silence was too alleviating for him to be anything but grateful. He dressed slowly, finding his gloves and leftover credit crystals amidst the rags on the bed. Mercifully the toad had the sense to take no more than the standard fee for her services. He would've had to hunt her down otherwise and that would've been exceedingly unpleasant for the both of them. When he was finally clothed he staggered down several flights of stairs before reaching the bar on the ground level, which he exited as quickly as he could to escape the blaring music only to be blinded by the glaring sunlight outside.

After careful consideration he decided not to fly to the docking gate after all and hailed a taxi instead. Paying for transport was a waste of good money in his eyes, but after blowing half his earnings on drinks and sex, a cab-ride would classify as one of his more sensible decadences of the day. When they reached the docks, he paid the man disdainfully before setting out to find Raditz and spotted him almost immediately. The tall Saiyan was hard to miss, being one of very few mammals in the throng of reptilian creatures meandering to and from the spaceport.

"Well?" Vegeta asked when reached the soldier, running a hand over his face to clear away some of the cold sweat running from his brow.

"Holy shit Vegeta, are you OK? You look like you're gonna be sick." Raditz noted, taking hold of Vegeta's elbow to support him, but the prince slapped his arm away indignantly.

"I'm fine idiot! Now what the fuck was so important that it couldn't wait 'till we were back on the ship?"

"Well Vegeta it's like this..." Raditz fidgeted as if he didn't quite know what to say and his tail coiled tighter around his waist, indicating that he didn't expect Vegeta to react pleasantly to what he had to show him "... there were many wealthy Nuchraa merchants at the gambling house today and the gods of fortune smiled upon me..."

"They didn't catch you cheating then?"

Raditz shrugged in a carefree confession. If they were too stupid to see through his tricks then they deserved to be swindled as far as he was concerned. The soldier decided to present all his winnings to Vegeta, hoping to gain his favour with riches, before disclosing the real reason he'd summoned the prince. He tapped the scouter at his ear, scanning the crowd to make sure that none of Frieza's goons were around to bear witness to his wealth. If word of it got back to the Iceling then all his prizes were as good as confiscated.

"I made quite a handsome profit." Raditz said with a smirk when he was satisfied that he wouldn't be caught. Covertly, he rummaged around in a pouch strapped to his thigh and pulled out several fancy chains with roughly a thousand credits worth of crystals dangling from them. He handed the currency to Vegeta to admire, his hand delving back into the bag to bring forth numerous items of jewellery and a set of gem encrusted daggers, seemingly forged from Yanazian gold -- a precious blue metal which had become highly sought after since the Yanazian Confederate peeved Frieza for some trivial reason, resulting in the demolition of all the inhabited planets under their rule.

Although Vegeta was impressed with Raditz' quickly accumulated capital, he failed to see why it was so urgent that he inspect it. He handed the gems back to the soldier to tuck away in his pouch, and rubbed his temples in an effort to calm the vicious throbbing between his ears.

"If you dragged me out here merely to gloat over your winnings soldier, be forewarned that I'll be inflicting a great deal of pain on you later."

"Um... well... this isn't all I've won." Raditz stuttered and turned, grabbing hold of a child standing behind him that Vegeta had dismissed as a beggar. The soldier positioned the cub between himself and his prince, protectively placing a callused hand on her shoulder.

Vegeta's eyebrows hiked up in disbelief, his headache temporarily forgotten as he tried to process what Raditz was implying. His bloodshot gaze fixed on the girl, looking her over as if she was a venomous snake obstructing his path and he grimaced as he took in her appearance. The runt was quite possibly the ugliest thing he'd ever seen: skinny and pallid with a bare head that was almost grotesquely large in relation to the bony little frame. The skin was drawn taut over her skull, making her look sick and derelict with a layer of crud covering her naked torso like a garment -- the official colours of a Kilanrad prize fighter along with the grimy loincloth that served as a combat uniform. A strip of sunken grey skin circling the base of her throat showed that until recently she'd been wearing a slave collar and blood still leaked from four pinprick-like wounds, two on either side of her neck, where the collar's sharpened energy disrupters were lodged into her flesh. If not for her scent, barely detectable through the unwashed stench, he wouldn't have realised that the creature was indeed a female -- though her lack of aesthetic appeal could likely be seen as an asset in the immoral world of the Slave Ways.

The only thing about her that was less than repugnant was a pair of large, oddly tinted eyes, bright with a fire and intensity that belied her withered appearance.

"A brat, Raditz?"

"She has Saiyan blood." Raditz said, pointing to the tail around her waist that Vegeta had mistaken for a makeshift belt of dirty rope.

"Does it flow from you or Nappa? Because she sure as hell isn't mine." The regal elite's piercing stare sliced through his underling and the huge Saiyan retreated a little in fear of his prince's wrath.

"N-no my Lord..." He paused, mustering the courage to state his case "... but don't you see what this means, Vegeta? Her existence is evidence that you and I and Nappa aren't the only survivors. Who knows how many made it off Vegeta before it was destroyed..."

"Does she know where her parents are?" Vegeta was in no mood for one of Raditz' long-winded sermons and he definitely didn't like where he was going with this one.

"No my Liege, she doesn't, but that's beside the point. She's a Saiyan warrior, Vegeta. She doesn't belong in some slave pit to be thrown into staged combat, merely to entertain a horde of obese alien monstrosities that would've been unfit to clean her armour had our world still existed. She belongs with her own people my Lord... She belongs with us." Vegeta pressed his palms to his eyes, his headache spiking as the impassioned conviction in the man's voice grated on his nerves.

"I have no intention of opening a day-care centre Raditz." Vegeta rebuked, though his hangover was strongly urging him to just give the man his way and get on a transport pod so he could pass out.

"Please Sire. I have seen her in combat and I can vouch for her skill. She took down a Zunodarian all by herself! She's strong for her age and a cunning fighter and I know she can hold her own on the battlefield. Just give her a chance to prove herself. That's all I ask." The man was so close to pleading it was pathetic.

"A Zunodarian eh? It was probably no more than a hatchling."

"Not exactly. The lizard was twice her size and besides, she's only a cub herself."

"And that, **Raditz**, is precisely why I do not want her on my team! You know as well as I do that no child 'belongs' in the Iceling's purging squads. Just take her back to her master and beat some credits out of him in her place." Vegeta concluded evenly and -- certain that the discussion was over -- turned his back on his subject and began walking to the departure point of the pods carrying soldiers back to Frieza's ship.

"If you will not have her as a soldier, then I claim her as my protected!" Vegeta froze in mid stride, rounding slowly on his subordinate.

"You wish to **adopt **this foul thing?"

"It is my right. Under the law..."

"**I know the law, third-class!**" Vegeta roared in anger at Raditz' stubborn insubordination, startling both the soldier and the kid. He immediately regretted the volume of his outburst though, as he swayed slightly under the painful pounding it caused in his skull.

"...'**The law**' as I recall..." Vegeta carried on when the three Raditzes before him merged back into one "...also requires that half-breeds must be put down upon discovery and any man with eyes can see she is no pureblood." Raditz blanched visibly at these words, but his jaw remained set and his resolve did not waver.

"I know that. But under the circumstances I think some leeway is in order -- that is if we want our people to remain more than references in historic archives." He bit out with slightly forced respect, fear being the only thing keeping a rein on his steadily rising temper. Why the hell did the royal brat insist on being difficult about this? Didn't he care at all what became of his people?

Vegeta felt his stomach churn warningly as another bout of light-headedness assailed him. Raditz was clearly prepared to drag this out until his commander and chief pummelled some sense into him or until he got what he wanted and Vegeta wasn't in any fit state to argue much longer, let alone hand out a beating...

"Fuck, Raditz! ... Fine! You can have her, but she is your responsibility. If I have to take so much as one lashing on her account I'll kill the brat and take it out of your hide, is that clear?"

"Yes, Your Highness. Thank you, Your Highness. You will not regret this." Raditz said with a bow and Vegeta watched in disgust as he knelt before the girl, sinking his canines into the filthy skin at the crook of her neck to formally mark her as a member of his family...

--------------

Vegeta was roused from his pensive thoughts by an unfamiliar, yet insignificantly weak life force creeping closer to him. He pulled his gaze away from the Saiyans at the table and came face to face with a human female he hadn't seen before. She had long blue hair like the woman's, but that was where the resemblance ended. For one thing, Bulma was dressed like a nun compared to this girl. The garment that was supposed to cover her chest was so laughably small that he could make out the top arch of her areolas and he didn't know why she even bothered with the bottom part for all it left to the imagination. Then there was her smell. The sickeningly sweet miasma of cheap perfume stung his sinuses, but wasn't potent enough to drown out the odour of stale alcohol, nicotine, and a few other narcotics travelling through her bloodstream.

It was a prostitute's scent.

"Hi there, Handsome. I'm Marron." She simpered in a syrupy sweet voice, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet while girlishly twirling a strand of hair between her fingers. The ploy to feign innocence was laid to waste however, by the lascivious way she shoved her unnaturally large breasts under Vegeta's nose, making him instantly wary.

"If you say so." He said curtly, and sidled to the right to put some distance between himself and the obtrusive creature. He startled with a jolt when she suddenly erupted in a bout of riotous laughter.

"You're so funny." She said, slapping him on the shoulder, but she didn't remove her hand once it hit its target. On the contrary, she smirked as a blood-red fingernail traced the grooves between the lean muscles underneath his shirt while her gaze traversed the rest of this superb specimen of masculinity standing before her.

Vegeta felt bile rise in his throat when he recognised the glint in the woman's pale green eyes. It was the same look Frieza used to give him.

With a warning growl he brushed her hand off his body and strutted over to the pool deck for lunch, hoping to lose her in the small crowd. As he neared the group, he noted the placing of everyone present as two decades worth of persecution had programmed him to do. Baldy and Kakkarot's mate sat at the table with the brats, listening to the boy prattle on about some or other childish topic. The woman had disappeared into the house while the rest were frolicking in the tub of bubbling water called a "Jacuzzi."

The prince took pleasure in the way their inane chatter quieted when they noticed his approach. It was good to know he could still strike fear into other warriors -- even if they were a lot of spineless bottom feeders. By the time Vegeta made it to the veranda he was greeted by complete silence. He ignored the apprehensive stares of the assembled and fetched himself a plate from the stack, proceeding to fill it with something of everything before occupying the closest empty chair, which happened to be next to Krillin.

"Um... Hi Vegeta... I don't wanna be rude or anything... but ... err... "

"Something on your mind, chrome dome?" The prince grumbled lowly, glancing up from his meal in annoyance.

"I don't mean to bother you, it's just... you're sorta in my girlfriend's seat." He explained with a nervous laugh, motioning to the bimbo from the garden who'd navigated a path back to the patio.

"That's OK, Krillin. I don't mind sharing with your friend." Marron chirped and before anyone could prevent it, she hopped into Vegeta's lap, wiggling her behind against his crotch as she made herself comfortable. Vegeta's temper rose like mercury in a thermometer at the woman's brazen disrespect and it was with a great feat of restraint that he kept from twisting her head off on the spot. Instead he bolted to his feet, letting her fall gauchely to ground like a sack of potatoes.

Marron raised her head, blinking owlishly in disbelief. Never in her life had any man rejected her so unequivocally and in full public view, but she didn't intend to take it lying down. After all, her boyfriend was one of the strongest people alive... and the most gullible.

"Ow! My ankle!" She yowled, grabbing hold of her leg.

"... Oh Krillin, he hurt me!" Marron wailed at the man who'd knelt beside her, with big crocodile tears welling up in her eyes for effect. Nurami scoffed doubtingly and Vegeta rolled his eyes, but Gohan and Chi Chi sat in deathly silence, waiting to see what Krillin would do.

"Now Marron, I'm sure Vegeta didn't mean any harm..." Krillin lied, praying that she didn't expect him to fight the Saiyan "...and we've talked about how you need to respect other people's boundaries. It doesn't look too bad, but I can take you to a doctor if you want?"

"Krillin, make him apologise!"

"Marron, please be reasonable."

"If you love me, you'll make him apologise." She whined manipulatively, pouting at her boyfriend. The poor monk was torn as he looked from his crying girlfriend to the alien warrior towering belligerently over them.

"You heard her, baldy. You gonna do something about it?" Vegeta taunted against his better judgement. Kakkarot had already noticed the tension and was getting out of the tub, ready to step in. Krillin, however, was too busy panicking to notice that his best friend was monitoring the situation. His eyes kept bouncing to and fro between Vegeta and Marron, trying to decide which one's ire he was least afraid of.

He settled on his girlfriend.

"He's a lot stronger than me baby. I'll get creamed."

"**You're not gonna fight him?!**"

"I... I can't, Marron. I'm sorry."

"**Then you're the worst boyfriend ever!**" She shrieked pettily and jumped up, the alleged sprained ankle forgotten as she stormed off with Krillin in tow, begging shamelessly for her forgiveness.

"Pathetic." The prince thought aloud, intending to return to his lunch, but he was interrupted before he could do so.

"That was kinda mean, Vegeta." Goku commented, having walked over to the dining area of the patio.

Vegeta was about to reclaim his chair, but remained standing when the third-class spoke up. The prick was already a good head taller than Vegeta's 1.86 metres and the prince didn't want to allow his rival even more altitude by sitting down.

"If you're envious Kakkarot, why don't you go get her? I'm sure she'll be just as happy to sit in your lap and rotate." Nurami snickered at the remark, Goku and Gohan looked puzzled while Chi Chi inhaled sharply, pressing her hands over her son's ears. The woman had never mastered the art of keeping her opinions to herself and with the encouragement of her husband's close proximity she dared to take on the source of the affront.

"We were having a perfectly nice time 'till you showed up Vegeta. Why don't you do everyone a favour and skip back to your gravity chamber?" An evil grin spread across the prince's face as he turned his attention from Goku to the brunette sitting across from him. He powered up slightly, allowing the indigo aura of his energy to burn threateningly around him and leaned in, bringing him nose to nose with the raven-haired harpy.

"Do **you** intend to make me, bitch?" He hissed, relishing the aroma of angst that was now radiating off Chi Chi. From the boundary of his vision he saw Nurami practically salivating with blood thirst at the prospect of seeing Kakkarot's succubus vaporised and he sneered in amusement. He didn't need empathic abilities to sense the seething animosity that existed between the half-caste girl and his rival's witch.

His imperious display was cut short all of a sudden, as he felt a powerful hand grip his shoulder.

"Don't call my wife a bitch, Vegeta." Goku spoke from behind him, his own energy flaming dangerously. Vegeta turned to lock eyes with the other Saiyan and was stricken by the uncharacteristic aggression that played across the man's features.

"_Holy shit. Maybe the idiot **is** Bonded._"Vegeta thought with mild shock, immediately backing away from his nemesis' very relieved wench. If there was one thing the prince remembered about Saiyan society, it was **never** to threaten a man's Bonded mate in front of him. The results could be hazardous -- particularly if the man in question was a Super Saiyan.

"You're right Kakkarot; no reason to insult female canines." Vegeta growled derisively, wrenching himself free of Goku's steely grasp and strode loftily indoors. He stalked to the kitchen, marched over to the sink and grabbed a glass from the overhead cabinet, pouring himself some water to quell his enflamed temper.

Bulma, again donning her sundress to graciously give Marron the advantage in the quest for Master Roshi's interest, entered the kitchen for a drink of her own, but stood stock still when she saw Vegeta standing with his back to her. She had two choices: she could do a one-eighty and go outside without any risk of a tongue-lashing or she could speak to him and face the consequences. She mauled on her bottom lip in consideration, deciding to screw up her courage and take the high road.

"You look nice. Taking a break?" There was no acid in her tone, only a light-hearted elation that caught the prince completely unawares. He held back his baleful comeback and forced himself to be civil.

"Kakkarot's wench doesn't seem to share you enthusiasm." He said, revolving to face her.

"Chi Chi? You shouldn't pay any attention to her. Nobody takes her seriously." Bulma answered with a shrug, going to the fridge to pour herself some cold ice tea. She held up the pitcher and gave it a little shake, making the ice clink to proposition the Saiyan. Vegeta's eyes narrowed as he seemed to consider for a moment, cynical as always, before dumping his water in the sink and handing her his glass in acceptance of the offer.

"Thanks. Could you please hand me one too? ... **Please!**" She prompted when he didn't respond immediately. He gave her his the-Saiyan-prince-doesn't-take-orders-from-lowly-human-females look, but nevertheless did as she requested. Bulma smirked inwardly at the small triumph as she took the glass from him. She poured the drinks and handed him his, taking a seat at the table to enjoy her own.

She was stumped when he slinked over and casually dropped down next to her. He didn't say a word, but simply sipped his tea quietly while staring at her with a look of appraisal in his intense obsidian eyes, making her feel like an animal on display.

"How's the training going?" She blurted, needing to make conversation.

"Fine."

"Good. The pod holding up OK?"

He grunted and she took it as a "yes." His piercing stare never wavered and Bulma could feel heat rise in her cheeks as the oppressiveness in the atmosphere became almost tangible.

"I'd better get back outside." She said, looking for an escape and began to rise, but stopped when a firm hand clamped around her forearm, sending unexpected bolts of lightning racing through the extremity. She gasped softly and looked down at Vegeta's grip with astonishment before raising her eyes to his face, noticing that he too was staring at his hand in mortification. The Saiyan recovered briskly though, recoiling as if scalded and folded his arms against his chest to restrain his straying hands.

"I thought you had to go back outside." He muttered, his eyes trained on the fridge, refusing to meet her gaze. A small grin curved the corners of Bulma's lips when she discerned a very faint rouge colouring his countenance. He plainly wanted her to stay, but was either too obstinate to ask or he didn't know how.

"On second thought I think I'll stay here a bit longer. Chi Chi and Marron bug me." She confessed, settling back into her seat. The woman was more than a little intrigued. Her housemate rarely sought company and on the few occasions they did speak, it was mainly to quarrel and trade insults. This bizarrely placated side of him was a new anomaly and definitely worth exploring. They sat in silence for a short while, not really looking at each other but stealing glances from the corners of their eyes until Bulma gathered her wits enough to speak.

"So um... I had this idea the other day." She started nervously, testing the proverbial waters. It wasn't often she held the guarded warrior's rapt attention and she was using the chance to broach a topic she'd wanted to discuss with him for some time.

"... Do you remember back on Namek when Goku was hurt? Well he said that you put him in a kind of chamber that healed all his wounds in only a couple of hours..."

"A regen-tank." He stated, surprising the woman pleasantly. Bulma had been a burning ball of curiosity when Vegeta first moved into her guestroom and she spent the first few weeks of his stay getting thoroughly educated in the futility of trying to interview the alien prince. Vegeta had a bad case of paranoia, always suspecting even the most trivial of questions to contain some hidden meaning and he hardly ever gave a straight answer, making it tediously difficult to extract information from him. Bulma didn't know if he'd be willing to answer her questions about the "regen-tank" and she certainly didn't expect him to volunteer anything. The inconsequential revelation of the device's name showed that she'd sparked at least a tiny bit of interest in him and that gave her the confidence to delve deeper into the subject.

"I guess you'd know what it's called. Anyway, a machine like that would totally revolutionise the practice of medicine here on Earth and I was thinking -- you know with Koola coming to attack us and all -- that it would be pretty great if Capsule Corp. could manufacture something similar and since you..."

"You really think you could build one?" He interrupted noncommittally, looking somewhat bored, but Bulma's cautiously optimistic heart soared at the query.

"Probably. If I just knew what a 'regen-tank' looked like I'm sure I could figure out how it works. Goku tried to describe the thing, but he was delirious and half unconscious when he saw it and he wasn't a big help. So I was wondering if maybe you could... if you won't mind telling me about it? You don't have to get technical or anything. I only need a basic..."

"Stay here." He ordered sharply, getting up and strode purposefully from the room before Bulma could inquire where he was going.

"What did I say?" The woman asked the empty doorway, throwing her hands up in addled exasperation. Nevertheless she remained where she was. Her inquisitiveness had been ignited by his odd behaviour and she wanted to see what he was up to. She didn't have long to wait as he came sauntering into the kitchen a minute later, smirking complacently as he fell back into his chair and tossed a pile of bound papers down on the table in front of her.

"What's this?" She asked, looking askance at the file.

"It's not gonna explode. Go on, check it out." He prodded nonchalantly. Bulma cast him a sceptical glance, but picked up the pages all the same and began to flip through them disinterestedly, halting when her gaze fell on a couple of highly detailed sketches. She brought the images up to her nose for closer inspection and her jaw dropped as she realised what she was looking at.

"Is this what I think it is?"

"It's a schematic for a regen-tank. It's not complete, but you should be able to fill in the blanks on your own. And you'll need a team of geneticists to compile a formula for the healing fluid."

"You... you drew all this... from memory?" Bulma asked in awe, staring at him with wide eyes.

"Raditz did doubly duty as a med-tech." He stated cryptically.

"... Only a complete shithead could watch a man work for twenty years without learning something of his trade." He clarified hotly in response to her vacant expression, but she noticed that he didn't quite meet her eyes as he spoke.

"Raditz... he was your friend, wasn't he?" Bulma inquired carefully, laying down the schematic as her concern shifted to Vegeta. After hearing of the brutality with which he'd disposed of Nappa she didn't think he was capable of forming such attachments, but what he'd just let slip disproved that theory.

"He was a loyal subject." Vegeta barked shortly, effectively slamming the door on the subject before it even opened. Bulma chewed her bottom lip, as was her habit when discomposed, and swallowed down the condolences his pride would never allow him to accept. With a stifled sigh she dropped the issue and reassigned her attention to the blueprint, getting an overview of the directions he'd jotted down to explain the sketches. With every turn of the page she became more and more impressed with the thoroughness of his work and by the time she finished scanning the document, she held a new reverence for the Saiyan Prince. She'd known that he was smarter than the average muscle-bound thug, but his technological know-how and meticulous work ethic put some of her best technicians to shame. She'd need more time to study the designs for an accurate timeframe, but from what she'd gathered so far, Capsule Corp. could well be able to begin production within six months, maybe less. If not for Vegeta's input, it would've taken years of research to reach that stage -- if they got there at all.

"How long have you been working on this?"

"A while." He clipped, not inclined to tell her just how many sleepless nights he'd spent compiling the designs. Bulma took the hint, smoothing her hands over the file that had swiftly ascended in status from a simple stack of notes to a priceless scientific breakthrough and raised her head to meet his gaze.

"Vegeta, do you realise how many people we can help with this?!"

"It will come in handy if that substandard pod of yours gives out again. That's all that matters to me." He grumbled truthfully. That **was** the only reason he'd bothered with the project, but he didn't want her to see how pleased he was with her approval either. Bulma saw through him though, and she chose to ignore his selfish remark.

"It's amazing Vegeta. Thank you." She said, smiling with appreciation and respect brimming in the crystalline pools of her eyes and darted forward on a whim, placing a gratuitous kiss on his cheek.

"Hope I'm not interrupting." An abrasive voice sniped from the doorway, startling them both.

"Yamcha!" Bulma squeaked, anxiously smoothing her hair with her palms. Vegeta would've said something wittingly mordant if the woman's unexpected gesture hadn't negated his brain, but all he could do was sit there and pray that the human wouldn't notice the bewilderment tingeing his features.

"... We were just...Vegeta drew me a regen-tank. See?" She explained, holding up the file.

"Whatever!" Yamcha sneered cantankerously and left as brusquely as he'd appeared.

"Vegeta, I have to go after him." Bulma implored, her eyes pleading with him to understand.

"I'm not stopping you." He huffed, succeeding narrowly in his bid to sound uncaring. Bulma smiled apologetically before rushing after her mate with the blueprint in hand, leaving Vegeta alone with his mulling thoughts. Slowly his fingers rose to his face, resting on the tingling spot where her lips had grazed his skin and his guts knotted as a fresh brand of confusion washed over him. He had no name for the feelings that surged when the woman touched him so fondly, but the way she had smiled at him; with such warm regard reflected in her bottomless blue eyes...

It was a look he had seen from time to time, passed between loved ones, but the like had never been directed at him and it was profoundly soothing and grievously terrifying at the same time.

What the hell was she doing to him?

-- 'Unwell' by Matchbox 20

Next Chapter: Sweet dreams and bitter words.

OK, there you have it... Vegeta stands over six feet in this fic Oo It's an AU and its mine so I can make the dude as tall as I like. Just to be fair though, according to my observations Veggie did get progressively taller throughout the show as his popularity grew, and by GT, he's indeed only a head shorter than adult Goku. However if a tall Vegeta really totally freaks you out, feel free to flame if it'll make you feel better --


	8. CROSSING THE LINES

Well here it is at last, hope it was worth the wait you guys -- Thanks again to my great beta-readers for their hard work and to all the loyal fans for your reviews. There's some serious lemon in this one, so no like... no read, OK?

**ACCIDENTAL REDEMPTION**

**By Evil Saint**

**VIII. CROSSING THE LINES**

--I'm going under

Drowning in you

I'm falling forever

I've got to break through

I'm going under

A blanket of petrified silence had settled over the forest. It was as though the wind itself was holding its breath, fearful of the indomitable predator tearing a path through the undergrowth. His pupils were dilated from the endorphins coursing through his veins, sharpening his senses; his instincts zeroed on the single-minded goal of tracking and devouring his quarry.

The hunter paused in his prowling and the ancient hardwoods seemed to shrink in fright as he raised his nose to sniff the stagnant air, laden with the inebriating flavours of blood, sweat and adrenaline. Mouth watering, his tongue lathed over pronounced canines and razor-sharp incisors -- a tribute to his carnivorous ancestors -- as he caught scent of his prey. The primeval rhythm of his heartbeat drummed against his sternum as he bounded through the thickets, driving ever deeper into the jungle. His would-be victim's scent was growing stronger and with every powerful stride the sweltering need in his loins grew as well...

After what felt like hours of sprinting he tasted her salty skin on the air and the beast between his thighs twitched in anticipation. The atmosphere was still sultry with her terror, but she was near enough now that he could define the faint perfume of arousal intermingled with the other aromas drifting off her flesh.

The inhibiting, "civilized"side of her was telling her to panic and flee from him, but there was another side of her persona that only the two of them knew existed. An darker, more sordid face that she locked away in the deepest chasms of her subconscious, hidden from the judgments of the world and it was **that** side that enjoyed being hunted like an animal; **that** side that was getting excited at the prospect of being taken by her stalker and it was **that** side that he was going to liberate once he found her...

Suddenly, a flock of brightly feathered birds erupted from the canopy, alarmed by his roar of feral joy as he broke through another cluster of bushes and spotted the nimble creature dashing along a narrow gazelle's trail only a few metres ahead of him. At the sight of her his carnal compulsion completely overwhelmed him, numbing him to everything but the need to possess his prize. He pounced with catlike precision, tackling her from behind and pushed her down into the mossy grove.

Although the ground was cushioned with vegetation, the fall knocked the oxygen from her lungs and robbed her of the breath to shriek as he ripped off her clothes, already shredded by the thorny shrubs fencing the path she'd travelled. He didn't remember stripping, yet their bare hides, hot and doused with sweat, slid together deliciously as he trapped her squirming frame beneath the rock solid weight of his torso. His tail looped around her waist to hoist her hips while a hand wrapped in her cyan locks. His clasp on her hair wasn't so tight as to be painful, nor was it gentle as he coerced her head back to feast on the exposed column of her throat. A purring sound resonated from his chest, the vibrations tickling her back as he lapped at the cuts where thorns had ripped her skin, sampling the ambrosia of her blood.

She, on the other hand, was swearing, bucking madly to throw him off, but her own flesh belied her protest, the smell of fear diminishing as the sweet fragrance of her desire permeated the air instead. He grunted lowly when her struggling caused her bottom to rub enticingly against his weeping erection, sending a fresh rush of blood surging into his already pulsing member.

For a second time her breath was stolen, quieting her diatribe as he ploughed into her from behind with a single, vicious jerk of his hips. She gasped, eyes wide at the unexpected intrusion that filled her to bursting. He immediately began rocking his pelvis against her, making them both hiss as he rammed deeply into her sorely stretched passage. Crying out, her fingers gaffed into the soft soil, her hair ripping from her scalp as her head thrashed against his unrelenting grip. But at long last, tears of agonising pleasure swelled in her eyes and she stilled in surrender, succumbing to the exquisite friction of his engorged shaft gliding mercilessly in and out of her yielding folds. She let out a sobbing moan and the dulcet sound sent a tremor of lust rattling through him. He stifled his own passion filled groans by nipping and sucking on her neck and shoulders, his energy level rising with his pleasure, not only to stretch his stamina and prolong his bliss, but also to heighten his control so he wouldn't injure the fragile being writhing underneath him.

It was so absurd that his catch's health mattered to him, but his concern stemmed from a force far more binding than logic -- an age-old instinct he could not name nor dared defy...

Without slowing his pace, the predator reached below his trembling captive to explore every satiny contour of her form. His digits took a moment to play in the damp tuft of blue curls at the apex of her thighs before wandering to caress her belly in lazy, placating circles, contrasting the ferocious strokes of his phallus so very deep inside her. Gradually his hand roamed higher, ghosting over her ribs to seize a supple breast in his palm. He massaged the tender globe leisurely, teasing her with a light brush of his thumb over the dusky pink summit, making her whimper. His fingers untangled from her hair and her moist brow dropped onto her scraped and muddy forearms, exertion leaving her too weary to hold her own head up as he cupped her neglected mound. Her nipples puckered against his groping hands and she moaned, involuntarily arching into his touch while he delicately pinched the tiny nubs between his thumbs and forefingers, washing away the pain in her centre in streams of fiery rapture...

Minutes later, they were panting and howling like a pair of rabid dogs as their groins slammed together with dizzying vigour, bringing them closer to paradise with every brutal thrust of his hips. Small sparks danced on the hunter's bronze skin as he fed off his energy to sustain control -- craving release from the coiling in his gut, but unwilling to forfeit the delights that same tension brought.

Gleaming with perspiration, he reared into a kneeling position for deeper penetration and sped up his frantic rhythm. He shuddered from the intense pleasure, breathing in dry gasps and with a rattling cry he drew on what remained of his power, desperately clinging to the glorious sublimity he derived from their coupling. His hips snapped forth and when the tip of his manhood kissed the mouth of her womb, tiny blue thunderbolts burst free from his very shaft, striking her core.

Undreamed of sensations laced through her boneless frame, infusing her muscles with new strength and she gasped in ecstasy, rising to all fours, her head lolling back on her shoulders as her entire body quaked in orgasmic spasms. Her inner walls closed around him like a gauntlet of silk, effectively snapping his iron control. An almighty roar fled his throat and he drove into her one last time as his spheres contracted, anointing her with his rich, warm essence...

Suddenly a misplaced artificial sound spliced through the lust filled cries and the crumpling of foliage and the captive's eyelids fluttered open, her breath puffing heavily against soft, warm bedding as her stormy eyes raked her surroundings. For a moment she didn't recognise anything, but then her brain whirled to life, informing her that she was safely in her own room and that the whole ordeal in the glade had merely been an intensely savage -- yet equally enjoyable -- episode in her series of "Vegeta-dreams."

"_Well, almost the whole ordeal._" She thought groggily, for the slickness coating her thighs and the soreness in her muscles were very real indeed. Her head felt odd as well. The sensation wasn't pain per se, but it was a close cousin, like the tension just before a skull-splitting migraine sets in. Her mind was muddled and cloudy as if the chemicals in her brain had been diluted somehow and couldn't properly conduct the nerve impulses between her synapses. She hadn't a clue how long she'd slept, but it didn't seem to matter as she was still exhausted and all she wanted to do was rest. She yawned inelegantly against her pillow and her eyelids drooped, her hand moving automatically to the snooze button on her clock-radio to silence the melodic guitar cords that were supposed to serve as her alarm, intent on going back to sleep for a little while longer.

--Ding Dong... Ding Dong... Ding Dong--

The noise that had pulled her from her captor's embrace rang up incessantly and Bulma's eyes shot open once more. Whoever was at the door had evidently gotten tired and had taken to leaning against the doorbell to hold himself up.

"Who in blazes...?" She murmured woozily, shifting her clock-radio to see what time it was.

It was 10:56 a.m.

"**Shit!**" Bulma exclaimed, catapulting upright. She'd overslept completely and the shock was enough to clear the fog from her head. The young executive's mind raced as she mentally checked the day's schedule, trying to estimate how many people were going to be up in arms the moment she entered the office, demanding that she "please explain" her absence from her post. The woman startled when the almost forgotten doorbell chimed again and quickly wiped her thighs with the sheet before leaping out of bed. She grabbed her robe in mid-stride as she trotted out the door, the lack of a bra making running decidedly uncomfortable.

"Geez buddy, keep your shirt on!" She mumbled, carefully descending the staircase as the imposing visitor abandoned the bell to rap loudly on the door itself, making it rattle against the frame. She reached the foyer and glanced at the overhead security screen, surprised to be greeted by the sight of a very antsy baseball pro glowering back at her.

"Hello Yamcha, what are you..." She began as she opened the door, but was silenced when he dove forward and embraced her, muttering the phrase "Thank Kami" over and over.

"Yamcha, what's going on?" Bulma asked worriedly, her words muffled against his shoulder as she automatically wrapped her arms around him in return. His alarmed demeanour was making her fearful that something horrendous had come to pass while she slept. Yamcha slackened his hold slightly and his chocolate brown eyes, filled with love and warmth, peered into her bewildered blue ones as he softly caressed her sleep mussed hair.

"I wanted to have lunch with you, but your cell was off, so I called your office, but your secretary said you hadn't come in to work and that no one knew where you were. Then I called here and when you didn't answer... Kami Bulma, I'm **so** glad you're alright!" He said, running his hand over her tangled tresses before pushing her head down onto his shoulder, hugging her tightly.

Bulma sighed with relief, thankful that Yamcha's worry wasn't due to some bloodthirsty alien attacking the planet as she'd automatically assumed.

"_I can't believe I slept through my alarm **and **the phone! That was some dream...._"

The woman had to give herself a little shake to wrench her mind out of slumber land, hoping that the flesh and blood male in her arms wouldn't notice her burning cheeks. Then a thought occurred to her and she smiled, cocking her head to look up at her boyfriend with a curious frown creasing her brow. She appreciated his concern, but failed to see why her not showing up for work would cause him of all people such distress.

"I'm fine Yamcha..." She assured him with a laugh "... but why wouldn't I be? This place has better security than Fort Knox. And besides, even if the locks **and** alarms **and** guard-bots gave out, I'm pretty sure Vegeta would jump at an opportunity to rip someone apart if they tried to break in here." She teased, belatedly realising her mistake as the concern leeched from the all-star's face to be replaced by a far more sinister emotion.

"That... alien is precisely what had me worried! And **he** doesn't need to break in to get to you. He knows all the security codes better than I do." Bulma rolled her eyes and stepped out of her boyfriend's embrace, crossing her arms in an unconscious imitation of the Saiyan under discussion.

"Yamcha, we've been through this a million times..." She began, but trailed off when she noticed the strangely resolute look that had settled on the man's features. His jaw was set and his eyes hard as if he'd just reached a pivotal milestone in his mind.

"Then we'll go through it a million and one!"

--------------

Vegeta sat up in bed, panting. He was sticky with a mixture of sweat and genetics and he felt physically and mentally drained, despite having slept for ten hours straight. To make matters worse, his temperature was higher than normal, his whole body prickled with heightened sensitivity and several of his muscles were twitching under the strain of unfounded nervous tension -- all the telltale symptoms of an oncoming rut...

He groaned in disbelief, pinching the bridge of his nose and shook his head in useless denial. He'd already suffered through seven fevers in the last eight months, which was more than he'd had in the preceding eight years. It made no sense. The forsaken hellhole he was hauled up on didn't even have a moon, for Kami's sake!

Was this what he'd heard the humans refer to as karma; the Universe's cruel and unusual method of punishing him for his crimes?

And if things weren't bad enough, he just had to dream about **her**, making his torment that much more excruciating. The thrill of stalking prey had always been sufficient to distract him during ruts and to some extent palliated his reproductive drives until they subsided, but now his own physiology had conspired against him and robbed him of his only diversion. He'd never be able to concentrate on the hunt with images of **her** as his quarry prancing through his head!

The blue-haired harpy was among the most alluring females he'd laid eyes on in recent years. He supposed it was natural for his biology to resort to visions of her naked physique to bait him after ignoring his instincts for so long, but the downright eerie realism of the illusion disturbed him. Normally his wet dreams were fragmented and hazy, much like memories from when he was still learning how to keep his mind in Oozaru form, and the images never enthralled him beyond daybreak.

But this...

"Ugh, this is ridiculous." Vegeta scolded himself, rubbing his temples with his eyes shut and teeth gnashing as unbidden figments of the dream flashed before his mind's eye, exhilarating his manhood once more.

Kami only knew, if he had any sense left, he'd have his way with the bitch and kill her, take the pod and demolish the planet from space. Even Super Saiyans needed to breathe and Kakkarot would die with his world before he could lift a finger to stop him...

The fantasy helped to vent his frustration somewhat, but beyond that it was pointless speculation. The last thing Vegeta wanted was a coward's victory over his rival and no matter how much Bulma infuriated him, he could never intentionally harm her after everything she'd done to pull him from the desolate hell his life had been before.

When the young heiress invited him to live at Capsule Corp. with the Nameks and her family, he'd written her off as a pampered little slut with her head in the clouds and wind between her ears. Why else would she extend a hand of welcome to a being that only a few short months prior, attempted to annihilate every member of her species and succeeded in killing several of her comrades?

He was going to turn her down. In fact, the contemptuous rejection was on the tip of his tongue when he realised that woman's invitation really was the best option he had at his disposal. Like countless other times in his existence the inescapable theme of choicelessness resurfaced, and it was with gross resentment that he subdued his pride and accepted her offer. It galled him so much then; that he, the Prince of Vegeta, the most fearsome of the Saiyan elites, was stranded on a pathetic little planet, forced to submit to the whims of what he presumed to be a stupid, weak little female whose culture condemned everything he stood for...

Thinking back on it now, it was scary how poorly he'd judged her character after their initial acquaintance. He'd been taught from birth that underestimating an opponent was as dangerous as fighting blind without any armour on. He was lucky that the woman didn't consider him her enemy or she would've had no trouble getting the drop on him back then -- and at times he wasn't certain how much had really changed. He'd spent hours analysing her, trying to understand what made her tick, yet the minute he thought he had her figured out she'd do something contradictory to all his theories, stumping and intriguing him all over again.

Take their exchange on Umi no Hi for example. Their interactions of before had always adhered to a comfortingly predictable formula: One would demand something of the other, a series of barbs and threats would be thrown back and forth, followed by the losing party storming off with as much bravado as possible -- usually to comply with the other's request. Their conversation in the kitchen had changed all that, however, setting a precedent that had slowly dragged them away from their tried and tested style of communication into uncharted and horribly confusing territory. The prince didn't know what possessed him to be so... so "nice" to her that day and he wasn't entirely certain why he continued to buy into the new civility that had crept into his dealings with the wench. Nonetheless, despite knowing it had to be there, he hadn't found fault with it yet. As much as he enjoyed bashing it out with her in verbal sparring matches, he discovered that it was also bizarrely pleasant to just sit with her and exchange neutral banter about regen-tank development or the new prototype drone Bulma was assembling for him.

After the holiday's turn of events he'd managed to avoid her for three more days before boredom finally got the better of him. Shadowboxing tends to become a bit stale after a few days and so at last Bulma was informed of the training drones' inefficiency. Her reaction had been strangely gleeful -- a sharp deviation from what he'd come to expect. The regen-tank blueprints had proven to her that he was just as capable of advancing her inventions as he was of destroying them, opening her eyes to a whole new world of possibilities. Thus, instead of calling the prince an ingrate and yelling at him to practice restraint, she offered to come up with a brand new line of robots, specifically tailored to his needs. She pointed out that since he was always complaining about the battle-bots' unsatisfactory performance, it would be quite productive if he could give some input on improving the designs. That way she might finally invent something that was up to his impossibly high standards while he might just begin to appreciate all the work that went into his "toys."

The woman made a compelling argument, or at least he assumed she did. She was attending a party with scar face later that evening to celebrate the Titans victory over some other worthless team and she was wearing a sparkling, blue gown -- Vegeta's favourite of the royal colours -- which hugged her figure in all the right places. The prince was too attuned to the way the luxurious material flowed over her curves as she paced in front of him to hear much of what was said. Either way he ignored the nagging voice in his head that insisted he keep his distance from the tempting bitch and agreed to give her his cooperation. He was sure he'd live to regret the decision eventually, but for the time being he was happy to take whatever benefits he could derive from their unlikely partnership and a new set of drones was nothing to scoff at...

His groin throbbed again at memory of Bulma in **that** dress and he swiftly banished thoughts of all things female to the furthest reaches of his mind and slid out of bed, hoping to salvage what was left of this exceedingly shitty morning. Several joints cracked, popping back in place as he stumbled to the dresser in search of something to cover himself with on route to the bathroom. His naturally high body temperature made it uncomfortable for him to sleep with clothes against his skin during Japan's humid summer months and so he simply went without them. In his present state he didn't feel like dressing at all, but he could sense two energy signatures in close proximity, one of which belonged to Bulma, and the notion of bumping into her dressed in his birthday suit was even less appealing.

"_Hang on..._" Vegeta stopped in his rummaging and blinked as he fixed his attention on the pools of light pouring in through the drapes. It had to be near noon. The woman was supposed to be at the office hours ago. Why the hell was she still at the dome?

Bulma's life-force was so familiar to him by now that despite being the weaker of the two, it was more prevalent to his senses than the other energy signature he'd picked up and Vegeta's upper lip curled in disgust when he realised who it belonged to. He should've known that whiny human filth would be to blame for disrupting her routine.

He resumed his digging through the drawer, finally finding a suitable pair of cotton boxers and pulled them on before exiting the sanctuary of his room. He could hear the raised voices of the woman and her mate coming from downstairs as he made his way down the corridor to the opulent bathroom. The humans were obviously fighting again. Normally though, the arguments took place somewhere other than the mansion and Vegeta's only clue to their fallouts would be Bulma's foul mood upon her return -- as had often been the case of late. The Saiyan wondered vaguely what they were screaming about without really caring. With his finely tuned ears he could easily make out the words if he wanted, but he purposefully blocked out the sounds, closing the bathroom door behind him.

He was sufficiently irritable already without having to listen to the idiotic fighter's balking. The human had been grating on his nerves since his revival and Vegeta was steadily getting sick of it. He couldn't be sure that he wouldn't march downstairs and rip the bastard's spine out simply to shut him up if he listened too intently to the oral battle raging on the ground floor and he knew Bulma well enough to wager that murdering her mate right in front of her would be grounds for getting oneself pummelled by Kakkarot in her opinion.

Sooner than later though, the worm **would** have to be taught his place.

"_Preferably without any witnesses..._" The prince thought, smirking deviously as he stepped out of his underwear and into the shower, yelping involuntarily as the first steaming drops pelted down on his tingling skin.

--------------

"Don't walk away from me!" Yamcha yelled peevishly, following his equally miffed girlfriend into the kitchen.

"In case you haven't noticed, I've just woken up and I generally like to take a cup of coffee with the first fight of the day!" She sniped sarcastically, stomping to the automated coffee maker and chipping the mug she'd snatched from the bottom cupboard as she slammed it down on the counter to be filled.

"I don't want to fight with you!" He barked irritably at her back, following her movements from under furrowed eyebrows.

"Your tone suggests otherwise!" She snapped over her shoulder after taking a long draught of the strong black brew. Several strands of turquoise hair were left clinging to her lips, moist from the bitter fluid that had just passed over them. Yamcha flinched at the hostility in her bearing, marvelling inwardly at this woman's ability to be intimidating even when sporting wrinkled sleepwear with no makeup and ruffled hair.

"_Kami, she's hot._"

"Dammit Bulma...!" He screamed, but stopped to take a deep breath before continuing in a slightly calmer pitch. He wasn't sure at that precise moment if he was angrier with himself for his insubordinate thoughts or with her and her obstinacy regarding Vegeta, but he wanted to get her on his side and loosing his cool this early in the game wasn't the best scoring tactic.

"... I'm worried because I care about you, Babe. Can't you see that? I mean, how would you feel if I had a known psycho-killer lurking around in my apartment?"

Bulma sighed as some of the fight drained out of her and emptied her mug in three quick gulps before setting it down, leaning her back against the counter to face her boyfriend.

"I understand, love. I really do, but you have to start seeing the big picture here. According to my scanners this Koola guy is nastier than anything the Special Forces has ever fought."

"I get that, but..."

"I don't think you do." She interjected calmly, cutting off his objection with a raised palm, before explaining the allegation.

"...If you truly appreciated how dangerous Koola is, you wouldn't keep hassling me about my arrangement with Vegeta. I'm not kidding, Yamcha. This time, Goku won't be able to save the day by his lonesome. Vegeta knows more about Icelings than anybody and he's one of the toughest warriors in the whole Universe. We really do need him if we wanna live past this attack, but no more than he needs us. Trust me, he'd never jeopardise his chances of ascending to Super Saiyan by doing anything to me."

"Well let's consider that, shall we?" Yamcha countered with a hint of condescension, deciding to play the field from a different angle. Bulma was notoriously protective of her family and friends and she would never knowingly endanger them. Although he felt uneasy about exploiting her devotion to her loved ones to manipulate her, the ends justified the means as far as he was concerned. He'd had enough of that mother fucking ape for once and for all and he was going to say whatever it took to get rid of the bastard. He didn't trust the Saiyan and he didn't want him in the same solar system -- never mind the same house -- as his girlfriend, regardless of his intentions if he ever did fulfil the Legend. To hell with the greater good!

"...What if one of these fine days he does become a Super Saiyan, huh Babe? You haven't got a clue what he's capable of. For all you know, he's gonna join forces with Koola the minute he lands and help him to destroy us. It's a good thing we'll all be dead, 'cause I don't know how you'd live with yourself knowing you paved the way for him."

Bulma's bright blue eyes narrowed to slits as her blood pressure started to climb. She'd dared to think that they could have a civil conversation for once, discussing their issues like adults, but Yamcha's less than subtle accusation proved how futile a hope that was.

"You're the one who hasn't got a clue! The Icelings enslaved him and destroyed his planet, for Kami's sake. He'd never side with them in a million years!" She snarled, offence at his implication sharpening her cadence, but Yamcha wasn't backing down.

"That may be, but it doesn't change what he is! He's murdered enough people to fill the Earth a thousand times over, Bulma. That's not something a man like him just walks away from. This guy is evil to the core. He likes killing! He gets off on it! Sure he's on his best behaviour now, but don't forget that he came here to slaughter everyone on the planet. I **and** Tien **and** Chao Tsu **and** Piccolo have all died once already because of him and if he **does** become stronger than Goku -- Kami forbid -- there'll be nothing to stop him from finishing what he started! Doesn't any of this matter to you?!"

Unbeknownst to Yamcha, Bulma had been doing a lot of tossing and turning over the subject of Vegeta's aspirations after he ascended. She trusted the Saiyan's word that he would help them defend the Earth and she doubted that he would vow to protect the human race if he still planned to decimate them; however his fanatic competition with Goku did have her worried. Vegeta had never clearly vocalised what he meant to do with the other pureblood if he ever surpassed him in strength, but Bulma was certain that it wouldn't be pleasant. The fact remained that the Special Forces needed **all** the Saiyan warriors in top form if anyone was going to survive beyond Koola's invasion and the fate of the world had to take precedence over her fears for her friend. It was a choice that weighed heavily on her conscience and she didn't need her short-sighted boyfriend to make it any harder on her.

"Stop trying to lay a guilt trip on me!" She thundered, lightning flashing in her tempestuous eyes.

"... I know his record isn't spotless, but every bad thing he did, he did for fear of Frieza and that monster is dead now. On his own he's not nearly as bad you're making him sound and I can't believe you're being such a hypocrite about this."

"'Hypocrite?!' What the hell are you talking about?!"

"I'm not as naïve as you apparently think! I know about you and that slut, Kasumi and I know you only did it to spite me, but I **forgave** you! You got a second chance, but you wanna deny other people the same courtesy. That's called hypocrisy, Yamcha."

"OK fine, I admit it! I fucked your Dad's assistant. Big deal. Vegeta has murdered planets full of people in cold blood, Babe! There's no comparison. I gave my life to protect everyone on Earth --** including you **-- from that maniac and his lackeys. If anything, **I** earned a second chance. Just what has he done to deserve it?" He finished by folding his arms over his chest, staring confidently down at her as if daring her to oppose him -- which of course she did.

"For your information, Vegeta has done plenty." She refuted and started recounting the prince's redeeming deeds to make her point. Bulma had never wanted to be so insensitive as to vaunt the Saiyan in Yamcha's presence, but the man's indifference to his indiscretion had stung painfully and she wanted to get even.

"... None of us would've made it off Namek if it weren't for him. He helped Goku when he got hurt, he helped Krillin and Gohan fight Frieza while Goku healed and he died in that battle, so I'm afraid you don't own the monopoly on noble sacrifices! He hasn't harmed a soul since his resurrection and last month he gave me the designs to build a regen-tank so..."

"Oh, how could I forget?" Yamcha interrupted her speech, unable to listen to another word. He was getting thoroughly upset by her adamant defence of the bastard. What the Saiyan did and didn't do was fast becoming irrelevant, the only issue of consequence -- to Yamcha anyway -- being that his girlfriend was advocating another man's case against him and he resented her for it.

"... After all, that contraption was so fucking amazing you couldn't help but throw yourself at him!"

Bulma rolled her eyes and threw her hands up in exasperation.

"So once again this is what it all boils down to, mmm? You and your ever so fragile ego. You're not really concerned about me or Goku or anyone on the Kami-damned planet aside from yourself! Those blueprints are going to change the face of modern medicine. Shit, it's the greatest medical advancement since penicillin and you're having a tantrum because I gave a peck on the cheek to the guy who made it possible! How can you be so self-centred?!"

"**I'm** being self-centred?! Kami dammit, Bulma! Would it kill you to show me the slightest bit of consideration in this relationship?!" Yamcha chided.

"...Goku and Vegeta aren't the only people who are gonna be out on that battlefield when Koola shows! I'm training my ass off too, but you're always too busy fussing over your precious pet alien to notice! You say we need all the help we can get, but how about sending a few of your inventions this way for a change?"

"You really haven't got an inkling of what we're up against, do you?" She cried, sounding more dismayed than angry.

"...Get real Yamcha! You didn't want to fight Frieza because you knew you'd be no match for him and Koola is at least ten times more powerful than his brother was. A combined effort from the Saiyans and maybe Piccolo is our only hope of taking that snake down. It doesn't matter how hard you train; if it comes down to it, no human will be able to tip the scales in the Earth's favour!"

Yamcha paled as the bitter reality was shoved down his throat, though it wasn't the facts themselves that jarred him. He'd always known that he didn't have a lot to contribute in the coming war, but the knowledge that Bulma knew it too cut into his heart like a thousand hot knives. Once upon a time he'd been her knight on a white charger, but his armour had become tarnished along the way. He was still among the strongest people on the planet, but he was no longer invincible in her eyes and the notion that another had taken his place as her hero sent him spiralling into a jealous rage.

"I'm just completely useless to you now that you've got the big, strong 'Prince of all Bad Boys' to take care of you, aren't I? Not to worry though, maybe I'll get killed again and the two of you can fly into the sunset and fuck happily ever after!"

Bulma's eyes widened in shock, her hackles rising in fury as her boyfriend's flippancy pounded on her eardrums.

"How can you even think that?!" She spat through gritted teeth, her hands balled into white-knuckled fists at her sides.

"Just what am I supposed to think?! You're always prepared to jump when he gives the order, but everyone else has to get in line. You're alone with him every fucking night, yet it's too much trouble to spend a few lousy hours a week with me! You told me yourself that you're having erotic dreamsabout **him**, yet you're still making **me** beg for a goodnight kiss!"

Bulma cringed at the ring of truth in his words, but she'd die before admitting as much. She mentally slapped herself for ever telling Yamcha about the innocent "kissing-dream" she'd had about Vegeta. She was only jerking his chain and at the time she wrote it off as a fluke. How was she supposed to know that it was the beginning of an escalating trend?

"I am **not** having 'erotic dreams' about Vegeta! I had one little dream...**One**...Where he kissed me, nothing more!" She lied, blushing profusely, and even though she knew it was silly to feel guilty about a product of her subconscious, she wasn't able to meet his eyes as she spoke.

"Well, why the hell would you have a dream like that anyway? For all I know you've been fantasising about him. Kami, for all I know you could be been crawling into his bed every night, **living** the fantasy. I **know** you spent several nights in his room when he was 'recovering' from his little mishap!" Yamcha's speech was thick with emotion as he finally voiced what had been eating away at him since he learned of Bulma's willingness to provide Vegeta with free room and board.

"...Is that why his room is close to yours? Easy access!" He yelled, inflating his own fears.

"... Time to fess up, Bulma! Are you sleeping with him?!" The man concluded, breathing heavily, his face flushed in scorn and eyes darkened with despair.

Bulma nearly choked on his brashness.

"_After everything I've had to put up with, he has the nerve to accuse** me **of cheating on **him**?!_"

**How dare you?!** You are such a perv... " At that instant her tirade was intersected by the low timbre of an all too familiar male voice emanating from the entrance, and it was only then that she heeded the persistent tingling at her nape that always accompanied the change in atmosphere when that unmistakable dark aura engulfed a room...

"Relax Human. I assure you I would never soil my bed with a female native to this dirt clod. However, I do find it disturbing that **any** woman would waste her energies on a gutless parasite like you." Vegeta's voice was hardly above the rustle of an arctic breeze, yet it slit through the room with the smooth efficiency of a surgeon's blade.

The two Earthlings merely gaped at the Saiyan as he pushed off the doorframe and stalked across the kitchen, heading out in the direction of the GT-pod, but not before shouldering Yamcha out of the way with enough force to send him sprawling to the floor.

"_Holy crap, why isn't he training?! How much did he overhear?_" Bulma thought in horror, peering at the newly unhinged door the prince had just slammed shut behind him. She didn't have much time to dwell on it, though.

"Did you see that?!" Yamcha screeched as he bolted to his feet.

"...Did you see what that psycho did to me?"

"You insulted him! I'm surprised shoving you is all he did."

"The guy is a fucking maniac, Bulma! You don't owe him anything. So if you value our relationship in the least, you'll get rid of him."

"Are you threatening to break up with me for letting Vegeta stay here?!"

"Either he goes or I go. It's your choice."

"OK, that's it! Yamcha, get your head out of your ass for five seconds, and listen good! I guarantee you that Vegeta won't hurt me or anyone else. I swear I have never, nor will I ever sleep with him. You have nothing to freak out over and there is no way I'm chucking a person out on the street just to appease someone else's neurosis! Is that perfectly clear?!"

"**So you're choosing him then?!**"

"**I'm not 'choosing' anything, Kami dammit!**"

"**Are you gonna throw him out?!**"

"**No!!**"

"**Then I know where I stand!!**" And with that Yamcha stormed out of the kitchen, disappearing into the living room and she heard the front door slam a moment later, ripped from the frame by the sound of it.

"Mother fucking asshole." She growled venomously, and marched to the servo-bot control panel, taking a deep breath to regain her poise as she issued a pair of house drones to mend the broken doors. She wasn't overly concerned about Yamcha's flippant retraction from their relationship. Over the years, many of their quarrels had ended with one of them threatening to leave if their ultimatums weren't met. Admittedly, the tactic hadn't been used since the incident involving the coquettish FHM reporter, but Yamcha could be tenaciously childish when incensed. He would see the error of his ways as soon as his temper cooled and it would only be a couple of days before he came crawling back to beg forgiveness.

"_This time it's gonna cost him... a diamond necklace at the very least!_" She brooded, guiltily worrying her bottom lip upon noticing Scratch's empty food bowl in the corner of the room. She hadn't seen the little fuzz ball at all after her rude awakening. The poor feline must have given up on waiting for his mistress to feed him and was likely out in the yard, refining his hunting skills.

"... _Speaking of hunters..._" Bulma's thoughts floated to the corporeal incarnation of her phantom lover as she retrieved the cat pellets from the pantry. She'd been pleading fruitlessly with Vegeta for ages to establish a balance between training and rest. She should've known he was simply waiting for the most inopportune time conceivable to follow her advice.

Yamcha's imputations were truly awful, but the notion that the Saiyan may have been privy to her own utterances disconcerted her as well. Her housemate was egotistical enough without knowing about her boyfriend's envy or her admiration and he was probably going to drive her mad with his gloating in the months to come. Then again, he might never to speak to her again. The climate of their alliance had recently shifted from frosty tolerance to something a little warmer, but Vegeta remained reticent as ever. He clung to his distrust like a protective shield, which was why she had no idea how he would interpret anything she'd said -- especially that horribly embarrassing admission about her dream.

She couldn't access the damage without knowing how much he'd overheard though, and there was only one way to find out. She would have to swallow her pride and ask him directly. She'd already missed the morning's shareholder's conference. Another few minutes' absconding wouldn't make any difference to her professional fate, so she might as well get it over with. Besides, after butting heads with Vegeta so many times in the past, interrogating him was a far less daunting prospect than facing the gang of agitated managing directors no doubt awaiting her in her father's office. The Saiyan might humiliate her mercilessly, but at least he wouldn't call up her daddy and have her fired.

With her plan of action decided and Scratch's dish filled, Bulma squared her shoulders and headed upstairs to change into more appropriate attire before confronting the prince...

--------------

Vegeta was sweating away at the gravity simulator's maximum setting of 400 Gs, sparring against a new set of his old battle bots. For once he was thankful for the lacking challenge they posed as it freed his mind to dwell on the Earthlings' argument. It came as no surprise that the weakling felt threatened by him, as he should be. The woman's attraction wasn't exactly breaking news either, but the revelation that his psyche wasn't the only one conjuring phantasms of them together did pique his interest.

"_So we're dreaming about each other, are we? And in an intimate fashion no less..._"

Recalling his earliest education, Vegeta remembered that dreams were an important part of the Saiyan mating ritual and shared dreams were supposed to be indicative of a subconscious mind meld -- the second stage of a developing Bond. Planet Vegeta's tribes had evolved from a violent bunch of cannibalistic wereapes and contact between individuals was rare beyond combat. Thus, the first phase of the Bond was designed to overcome Saiyans' instinctive fear of interaction through a gradual change in hormone levels that would heighten a pair's need for physical closeness.

Which in males meant that the Unrak Nagul would occur independently of the lunar cycle...

"**No!!**" He howled, deflecting a stray energy sphere back at its mechanical originator. Even if it were theoretically possible for Saiyans to Bond to humans, the idea of him and the woman was absolutely preposterous. That morning's dream was odd indeed, but there was no evidence that Bulma had shared it. The small amount of detail he'd overheard was enough to indicate that the dream she'd had was completely separate from his -- a conjuring of her own, overly sentimental subconscious, just as his was a mere figment of his hormone driven imagination. He was training hard and she'd frequently been working late during the previous week, so the fact that they'd both overslept was merely coincidence.

As for his erratic mating cycle... his whole life had been screwed up since coming to Earth, why should he expect his ruts to be any different?

--External override initiated... Simulation shutting down... Drones deactivating.-- The computer's hollow voice announced suddenly and Vegeta adjusted his equilibrium just in time to keep from launching through the roof as the gravity dropped to normal. Her scent, sweet and spicy like wildflowers and cinnamon, filled the air even before she'd fully entered the pod and the fragrance sent chills running down his spine. He pulled his tail into a painfully tight loop around his waist, wary of what it would betray if he allowed it to relax even slightly. The treacherous limb tended to act with a mind of its own during his fevers and he wanted dearly to ward off any embarrassment it was bound to cause if he let it go astray.

"Where do you get off eavesdropping on my conversation with Yamcha?!" She bellowed up at him, her screech exploding in his ears, resounding through his skull like a ricocheting bullet.

"_So the little female still has some fight left, does she?_" The Saiyan mused, torn between elation and trepidation as he drank in the sight of her dressed in a low cut red blouse, with a black business jacket and matching skirt. It was an ensemble he knew well. "Her battle gear" was what she called it.

He didn't answer immediately, but folded his arms over his chest and commenced a purposely slow descent, watching the annoyance play over her features as she stood with her hands on her hips, impatiently tapping the ground with her foot. He did fancy a good scrimmage and maybe pushing the female's buttons would work toward venting some of his sexual tension.

"... _Bring it on, Woman, bring it on..._"

"Don't flatter yourself. If I cared any less about your pointless bickering with that ass leech, the ensuing vacuum would cause a black hole. Just do me a favour: Next time you're 'conversing' about your private affairs, don't broadcast it over a loud speaker. I **really** don't wanna hear anything you and pencil dick have to say to each other." Bulma winced slightly at the obscenities, but decided to let it slide. Yamcha wasn't her favourite person at the moment and she didn't feel like standing up for him.

"How much did you overhear?" She spat, failing miserably in her attempt to sound nonchalant.

"_Well now, let me see. I know that your pansy of a mate is dying for a pissing contest, but lacks the equipment to challenge me upfront. Very unfortunate indeed. And then there's the little matter of your understandably unsatisfactory mating habits, which explains why you'd be having 'inappropriate' musings about yours truly..._" Vegeta smirked wickedly for effect as he mentally ticked off the list of compromising confessions he'd been privy to.

"Enough to know that your mate's a neurotic ass wipe, but that's not exactly privileged information." He responded, savouring the look of discontentment on her face.

"What do you mean?" She snapped, tossing pretence to the wind. She was upset already and she didn't have time for the stupid cat-and-mouse game he was playing.

"Why are you so worked up about this? If I didn't know better I'd think you're trying to hide something from me." He remarked innocently, deliberately avoiding her question.

"Of course I'm not, you narcissistic prick!" She shrieked, betraying more emotions than intended.

"Mmhmm. Whatever you say, Woman." Vegeta said in a knowing tone, delighting in the sight of her struggling to keep her frustration at bay.

Bulma wanted to strangle him. He was deliberately keeping her in the dark about the extent of her revelation, simply for the love of watching her squirm. His evasive responses made it painfully clear that he was planning to milk her predicament for all it was worth; and that after she defended his character and refused to toss him out in the cold!

"_So much for gratitude. Then again I guess the joke's on me for expecting as much from inconsiderate, egotistical men!_"Bulma fumed as she recalled the events that gave rise to her present debacle and suddenly found herself subscribing wholeheartedly to the extreme sentiments of feminism.

"My **name** is Bul-ma, not 'Woman'! It's not that hard! Or can't the poor little monkey remember names with more than one syllable?" The moment the words left her lips she regretted uttering them. Vegeta's grin vanished instantly to be replaced by a very ugly expression. Her face blanched as he advanced on her like an angry tiger, his fists clenched at his sides and his energy flaring murderously. The fur of his tail bristled with ire as it left his waist to sweep threateningly behind him, punctuating the image of a jungle cat closing in for the kill. The woman's legs acted with a mind of their own; carrying her backward until she hit the wall. Then he pounced, drowning out her scream of terror with a roar of outrage as he slammed his fist into the wall behind her, leaving a huge dent chillingly close to her head.

"You will **never** call me that again. Do you understand?" His voice was eerily calm as he spoke and his eyes flamed with an aching fury that Bulma had never witnessed before. Clearly she had crossed the line with her insult and she was stricken mute with fear, unable to do anything but nod gingerly to convey her comprehension.

"Get out!" He growled vehemently, pointing at the craft's open hatchway. Bulma didn't wait to be asked twice and immediately darted out the door as fast as her trembling lower limbs would carry her, silently giving praise to Kami for letting her survive that blunder.

"_Just fucking terrific!_" The woman thought as she heard the sibilant sound of the hatch sealing behind her. If Shenron were to appear that instant and offered to grant her any wish, she would've asked to crawl back into bed. She hadn't even been awake for two full hours, yet she'd already managed to alienate two of the men closest to her and the third was soon to follow if the messages on her cell phone's voicemail were any indication. It had to be some kind of a record.

Her heart thumped loudly in her ears as she strolled dejectedly to the front of the estate and decapsulated her car. She'd called her assistant, Hiroe, to make an excuse for her tardiness before speaking with Vegeta and from the sound of it Bulma Briefs wasn't the most popular name on the Capsule Corp. payroll at present. With the company's CEO missing in action, the shareholder's meeting had to be rescheduled, making a poor impression on several of the longstanding investors. Needless to say, those conniving bastards on the board wasted no time in alerting Dr. Briefs of his daughter's absenteeism and her dear old dad was anything but lenient when it came to running his beloved business. Some serious brownnosing would be in order if she wanted to keep her position.

"..._This has gotta be the worst day in Briefs family history_." Bulma concluded as she got behind the steering wheel, feeling like a lamb on route to the lions' den. She turned the key with a desultory sigh and listened to the engine spinning to life, ready to transport her to a bloodthirsty pack of corporate carnivores and her third face-off of the day.

-- 'Going Under' by Evanescence

Next Chapter: More rude awakenings for Bulma.

By the by, if anyone would like to be notified of updates, email me at and give me an email address where I can contact you. Plus I'd really appreciate some input from you guys on plot development, so don't forget to review!


	9. BURNT BRIDGES

Thanks to everyone that were kind enough to post reviews, especially to readers like Pandora001, Spini and The Ouji's Mate for their ongoing support. It's the loyal fans that keep me battling through the writer's block at 3am, so even though I take eons to update, take heart in knowing your comments and reviews are great motivators and do help to get instalments done a tad bit faster -- Also a round of applause goes to Meliza Mac, Shen Long and Kyra Fable for beta-ing.

Hope you guys like this one!

**ACCIDENTAL REDEMPTION**

**By Evil Saint**

**IX. BURNT BRIDGES**

--Maybe I've been here before  
I know this room, I've walked this floor  
I used to live alone before I knew you  
I've seen your flag on the marble arch  
Love is not a victory march  
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

"... _Hundred-and-nineteen; hundred-and-twenty; hundred-and-twenty-one..._" Bulma shifted irritably in her seat in the conference room on the thirty-seventh floor, attempting to escape a boredom-induced death by counting the gleaming windows lining the neighbouring skyscrapers. She distractedly twirled a stray lock of hair around her fingers, vaguely aware of Mr. Izumi, Capsule Corp's very uncharismatic Head of Finance, rambling on about the estimated research and development costs of "Miss Briefs' controversial healing chambers."

She'd blamed her lacking presence at the previous shareholders' meeting on a combination of late night preparation and potent headache tablets -- weak excuses, she knew, but not complete fabrications. She'd always been terrible at lying to her dad and, as luck would have it, she arrived at the office that day to find him waiting via satellite to hear her explanation for her less than exemplary behaviour. She had to use every "Daddy's Girl" trick she knew to get Dr. Briefs back on her side, but in the end she managed to keep her job with no worse than a stern reprimand from her father to show for it. She was convinced that the board's respect for the Briefs family name was the only factor that prevented her from being sacked, but that was as far as that ticket would take her. If she messed up again, even her father's considerable influence wouldn't be enough to save her -- not that she'd expect him to try.

A shameful pang twisted in Bulma's stomach at the thought and she forced herself to pay attention to Izumi's monotonous rendition of the budget changes necessary to accommodate her new brainchild. Capsule Corp. wasn't known for manufacturing medical equipment and, despite her groundbreaking work as a researcher, the board was divided on whether or not regen-tanks should be introduced into the company's production line. The progressive thinkers were quick to see the product's potential and welcomed the fresh innovation, while a more rigid and unfortunately very influential element -- coincidentally the same assholes that condemned her appointment as CEO in the first place -- were dissatisfied with the proposed reallocation of funds from established projects. The issue was to be put to a vote following Mr. Izumi's presentation and Bulma had to be ready for any last minute questions once he finished.

It was times like these that she cursed being forewarned of the Iceling invasion and the burden of having to keep it secret, resigning the masses to their blissful ignorance for the sake of social stability. Potentially millions of lives depended on her ability to convince a dozen diehard capitalists that producing the regen-tanks would be in their best interest and since the pending apocalypse couldn't be used as inducement, her only foolproof method of persuasion was to appeal to their sense of greed. All she could do was pray that the invention's profit margin would be sufficiently impressive to make the directors realise its importance. If the idea was turned down she'd have to look to her private resources to build and distribute the tanks and that wouldn't be a quarter as effective as having them circulating the global market under the CC trademark.

Professional pressure wasn't the only thing worrying her though.

Over a week had passed since her squabble with Yamcha and she had yet to hear from him. Usually when they fought, he couldn't keep his distance for more than twenty-four hours before showing up on her doorstep with a dozen red roses and a set of big, brown puppy dog eyes, confessing his undying love and begging her forgiveness for whatever misdemeanour he'd committed. This time however, she hadn't even received so much as a phone call from him in all of eight days and she was starting to get impatient.

"_If that son of a bitch thinks I'm going to come crawling to him, he's in for a very longwait!_" Bulma though waspishly, suppressing an eye roll as Izumi repeated the same line of numbers for the third time on request of an aging executive whose hearing aid had apparently ceased function.

As annoyed as she was with Yamcha, Bulma was more concerned about the unresolved strain between her and Vegeta. Yamcha had acted like a complete dick and in all likelihood he was still too embarrassed to face the music; but it was up to her to make amends with the Saiyan. Honestly, she had no idea if he was still angry with her or not and she was driving herself crazy fretting over it. True, he had goaded her and she hadn't intended for her slight to insult him as deeply as it had, but she feared that their small sliver of conviviality had been dampened and that it might extinguish altogether if the air wasn't cleared soon. Kami help her, but they could've both been spared a lot of unpleasantness if only the damnable Saiyan would open up to her every once in a while!

Bulma had planned to atone for her careless remark that same evening, but when she returned home from work in the early hours of the morning Vegeta was nowhere to be found. She'd felt horribly guilty, thinking that his departure was a result of their altercation, but by the third day she began to question that theory. His eavesdropping must have provided him with barrels full of ammo to use against her and then she'd gone and presented him with a prime opportunity to level her with the fire and brimstone of his wrath. The prince was anything but the sulky type and he thrived on confrontation. It simply wasn't like him to pass up a fight, just to hide away somewhere, stewing in his own anger...

Another three nights went by before Vegeta finally returned to the Capsule Corp. dome, his presence made known mainly through the havoc he'd wreaked in the kitchen and the ruined workout gear he'd dumped in the laundry hamper. She really whished he'd be a bit more careful with his training suits. The lightweight, energy resistant stretch fabric was a copy of the bodysuit from his old alien armour and the garments were anything but cheap to manufacture, yet it almost seemed as if Vegeta was **looking** for ways to destroy them, having gone through four of the supposedly indestructible ensembles since he started training for Koola's attack. This time, the stains and tears littering the clothes made it fairly obvious that he'd been hunting which in turn suggested that he'd been rutting again and explained his Houdini act following their short shouting match.

Vegeta had banished himself to the GT-pod since his return, which wasn't out of the ordinary, but made it impossible to talk to him. She knew how much it ticked him off to have his workouts interrupted and she wasn't about to incur his ire by barging in on him. He was never in a good mood when he came home from a fever and she felt sorry for the poor beasts that crossed his path at the height of his hormonal influx. She wasn't without pity for the warrior himself, though.

It's a well known fact that sex and violence elicit similar responses in the human brain and if that was true for Saiyans as well, then Vegeta had to be battling some serious urges if the amount of blood on his clothes was anything to go on...

Bulma's mind automatically called forth the ferociously carnal dream she'd had about him -- the one that got her into trouble for missing the shareholder's meeting -- and her cheeks turned pink as liquid fire instantly pooled in her belly. Discreetly she rubbed her things together under the table, endeavouring to cool the heavy heat that had settled in her loins. Although she imagined it would be a lot scarier than arousing in real life, the fantasy of Vegeta hot and needy and wild with lust as he ploughed through the jungle in pursuit of prey never failed to turn her on.

She could scarcely recall the last time Yamcha had affected her in such a way and she cringed inwardly in self-recrimination. Vegeta stirred a passion in her with a simple look that Yamcha couldn't achieve with the most extravagant of gestures and it was terribly unfair. They hadn't slept together before his death and she knew he half expected her to before taking their relationship to the next level, but she simply couldn't bring herself to give in to him just yet. Yamcha loved her dearly, as she did him, but she felt so inadequate with all those bimbos constantly swarming around him. Why couldn't he just tell them to fuck off? That's what she would have done if the roles were reversed!

OK, so she'd refused to kick Vegeta out. So what? **Vegeta **wasn't perpetually feeling her biceps and asking her to sign his underwear!

Still, Yamcha was good and kind and safe and stable -- everything Prince Charming was not. The worst her boyfriend had ever done was to commit petty larceny in his youth while the Saiyan was guilty of acts so atrocious that Earth's languages didn't have words to name them. Then again, Vegeta was also an alien prince that had risen like a phoenix from the ashes of an intergalactic Empire, while Yamcha was a baseball player who'd run away from an orphanage in West City. It was like comparing flambé to jell-o. The Saiyan was exotic, volatile and dangerous. If she was a moth then he was the flame, irresistibly bewitching in his allure, but ultimately fatal...

Not that it mattered, really. Her musings were moot anyway. Even if she were prepared to set herself up for a fall, it takes two to tango and it had taken her almost two years, after returning from Namek, to gain Vegeta's acceptance on a platonic level. She was certain that the idea of a deeper connection with "a lowly human female" would be nothing short of revolting to him. He may have held her in higher esteem than the rest of her race, but to him, mankind was a lower species on the food chain, and to be considered a notch above steak tartar still placed her a long way short of dating material.

The Saiyan's recent behaviour towards her had merely reaffirmed his underlying indifference to her presence in his life. Maybe it was because of his rut, but Vegeta didn't seem to miss their evening chitchat in the slightest, while Bulma was genuinely bereft.

It had been nine days, thirteen hours and... she checked her watch... forty-six minutes since their last conversation. It wasn't like the discussions were particularly deep or enriching, but there was a quiet -- almost intimate -- ease to being in Vegeta's company that was wonderfully relaxing and she'd come to depend on it as part of her daily routine. Truth be told, there were a couple of instances during the past week where she... sensed him. There was no other way to describe it. Whenever he entered a room the ambiance would change and she chalked it up to his astronomically large energy signature that was powerful enough for even a layman like her to discern. She'd come to recognise his life-force when it touched hers and that's how she knew whenever he was near, but what she'd experienced over the last couple of days was the weirdest of sensations. It was almost as though he was... inside of her, wandering around in the depths of her being where her soul dwelled and the eerie feeling caused cold coils to encircle her spine, yet at the same time it wasn't wholly unpleasant. The moments were fleeting and despite her growing concerns for her mental health, she welcomed any little bit of togetherness she could have with the Saiyan -- even if it was only in her mind.

"_I wonder if it's possible to become addicted to another person..._" She pondered, staring through glassy eyes at the charts Izumi was projecting from his laptop.

For as long as Bulma could remember, she'd had to portray specific roles for everyone in her life. Her father and friends expected her to be clever and resourceful; her mother and boyfriend's compliments rarely fixated on anything other than her appearance, while the rest of the world seemed content to define her by her fortune. Vegeta was the first exception to the rule. The Saiyan didn't expect her to live up to the labels of a genius or an heiress or a babe, but didn't scorn her when she did. He wasn't intimidated by her intellect or envious of her wealth, nor did he feel the need to coddle her because she was pretty. To him she was just a woman and the former mercenary couldn't be bothered if she were wearing a four-year-old tracksuit in front of the TV, snickering stupidly at Roadrunner reruns, while at the same time babbling on about the intricacies of spaceship dynamics or genetic engineering. Nothing was at stake between them, simply because he didn't actually care for her, but when they were together she could make-believe... pretend that something was there that wasn't ...

At least Yamcha's affection was real and he'd always been an eager competitor for her attention. She had to confess that the man wasn't totally off the mark when he'd accused her of neglecting him. She maintained that the viciousness he'd displayed during their argument was disproportionate to her crime and she still wanted an apology, but perhaps she'd heed the old proverb about Mohammed and the Mountain and stop by his apartment once she was done at the office. Bulma didn't believe that Yamcha was serious about leaving her, but it wasn't wise to tempt fate.

She'd treaded into the desolate abyss of singlehood shortly before the Saiyans' arrival and she found that to be even worse than the idea of braving Koola. Courage under fire had become her middle name of late, but in a world where change seemed to be the only constant, she needed to have faith in the "happily ever after" the fairytales of her childhood had promised.

The alternative was simply too horrible to consider.

Yamcha was the only man who had ever paid attention to her romantically and Bulma was secretly mortified that nobody would want to take the all-star's place if he couldn't stand her any longer. Their last words to each other before Nurami had eviscerated him were spoken in anger and he'd managed to find someone new in the interim without much effort while she ended up alone on the sidelines, staring longingly at young lovers on the street and in shopping malls, envious of the carefree joy that she might never experience.

Bulma knew she wasn't the easiest person to get along with. Her personality was classic type A: independent, domineering and bitchy -- qualities not prized among the males of her culture -- and deep down, in the very core of her, she believed that she should just be grateful for having someone to share her life with, even if she always seemed inclined to cry after spending time with him. Chemistry wasn't all it was cracked up to be and anything was better than nothing, after all.

Right?

A jagged sigh became lodged in her throat and Mr. Izumi's droning was temporarily forgotten as Bulma's deepest uncertainties ransacked her heart...

--------------

Halfway around the globe, far from the marble grey walls and recycled air of the Capsule Corp. boardroom, a lone figure sat cross-legged on a nameless mountain peak, a solitary speck of life in an endless snowy desert. A frozen wind howled in rage, raining sleet and hail down on the intruder who dared to enter her hallowed domain, but the man seemed unaffected, the luminescent blue aura around him keeping the blizzard at bay as his jet eyes stared unseeingly over the bleak white landscape.

Vegeta had discovered the remote apex many months before when he still thought Kakkarot to have perished on Namek and kept himself busy by exploring the Earth while vainly awaiting the imbecile's resurrection. Like so many natives, the fabled giant, Everest, was what had originally drawn him to the Himalayas, but upon arrival the Saiyan found the mountain disappointing in scale compared to what he'd seen on other planets and the flow of traffic to and from the summit was far too heavy for his liking. The territory reminded him of Dargad however, and in a testament to his psychosis he found the resemblance appeasing, leading him to return time and again to the region's more secluded outcroppings when he needed respite from the hubbub of civilisation.

He was supposed to be meditating, but the undertaking had proven futile as a certain aqua-haired engineer kept infesting his mind and pillaging his concentration.

Vegeta had been back at Capsule Corp. for fifty-one hours and had yet to come face to face with his hostess. He was conducting business as usual following his rut, holding up in the GT-pod to make up for lost training time, but he'd thought that she would've sought him out by now. After all, he had damn near injured the bitch in the midst of their last altercation and she wasn't likely to let that slide. Of course that could also be why she was reluctant to engage him...

He'd enjoyed their row, watching the woman sweat as she tried to unravel the meaning behind his ambiguous statements. Then she had to spoil his fun by voicing one of Frieza's favourite disparagements, stirring up memories of the slander dripping like acid from black reptilian lips, searing his soul as his homeworld was blasted apart before his eyes... as he was beaten down in front of an assembly of laughing officers... as he lay dying under the Namekian sun with a Veshari half-breed his only mourner, begging a third-class traitor to fulfil the destiny that should've been his...

Of course he'd been furious and rightly so. Even if the wench didn't know what she was saying, she deserved to have her skull caved in for such disrespect. He'd smelt the burst of terror in her scent as he lunged at her, swiftly reminding her of whom she was dealing with. Her fear was potent and heady, the kind he always strived to evoke in others and he should've wrought tremendous satisfaction from seeing her stripped of her cocky bravado, trembling before him in submission.

Yet satisfaction was not what he felt.

She'd provoked his rage through her own brazen stupidity and he had no reason to feel remorse for his outburst.

So why did he?

The woman had plagued him during every minute of his rut, overwhelming him like a disease, and there were moments in his fevered state when he swore she was calling to him. He'd felt rather than heard her temptress' cry, like her very energy was summoning him and in those instances he was nearly blinded by the demanding impulse to seek her out and fuck her until his maddening need abated. It took every grain of willpower he could muster to contain himself and he had a daunting suspicion that if he wasn't off the planet the next time the Moon Madness claimed him, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from raping her.

The thought of forcing her sickened him worse than ever, but the prospect of trading the Briefs estate for the brothels of space was suddenly a lot more insipid than it had been a month or two earlier and his apprehension baffled him. If he stayed, he'd forfeit the tiny scrap of honour he had left by violating his housemate and end up dead. If he left, he got to have sex with as many seasoned professionals as he could afford, returning when his lust was thoroughly slaked and resume his training without anyone being worse for wear. If no-brainers were looking for a poster child this scenario would be a shoo-in, but for some reason the image of bedding a whore made his stomach churn with disgust. It wasn't that he'd ever considered it particularly appealing to join bodies with a female who reeked of every patron that came before him, but it was nothing to get upset about. He should be thankful that he had a choice at all, but instead he kept mulling over what was** not** available to him.

The notion that he could only have the tantalising Earthling by force was far more jarring than he deemed appropriate and he berated himself for his foolishness. He placated his pride with the reassurance that it was merely the lingering effects of his Unrak Nagul that were clouding his judgment and that he'd be back to his detached self soon enough. The peculiar dreams and hallucinations he'd suffered were nothing more substantial than the twisted whims of his delirium, having no bearing on reality whatsoever. For one thing, the rueful yearning he'd sensed when the woman supposedly called to him was too intense to be anything but imaginary. If she craved congregation that deeply she'd get it from her pathetic mate long before she reached such a level of desperation. The prince had heard enough of the humans' little spat to know that Bulma kept him around because she valued him as an ally, not because she longed for him. And even if she did, humans in general weren't fond of violence and his brutal reaction to her expletive would've surely quelled any affection she might have had for him.

His chest clenched inexplicably at the thought and to his chagrin he found himself overtaken by the consuming need to abolish any possible distrust he'd instilled in her; to set things right between them. The feeling was unwanted and yet he couldn't snuff it as he'd always done with useless sentiments. He'd never worried how his actions influenced others, so why oh why did he suddenly care how this woman was affected?

"_Perhaps because of the affect she has on you..._" whispered an obnoxious little voice inside his head. Vegeta stiffened and his energy flared around him in aggravation at the obtrusive thought, yet he couldn't ignore the ring of truth that echoed with it.

They were so similar in many aspects, yet so different as well. Her body was fragile and delicate, but she had a fighter's spirit and she could be as ruthless as she was cunning in pursuit of her aspirations, just like him. Unlike him, however, her heart wasn't chiselled from frozen steel. For as far back as the prince could remember, his life was filled with ugly, course and ultimately painful experiences. But then Bulma Briefs came along with her sinuous figure, silky hair and tanzanite blue eyes, and did the unthinkable: she forgave him for his past and brought him to a place filled with warmth and softness and soothing sensations -- things he never dared to want -- and right then he despised her for the frailty she'd instilled in him.

He'd discovered that the woman had the uncanny ability to bind his devils with a glance, a laugh, a touch, and in an instant his most fervent aspirations would melt into the background, becoming distant and obscure. In those moments the spikes of his hatred would dull, easing the throb of his inner anguish and allow him a glimpse of what lay beyond the dank, dark cell that was his life, making it so much harder to bear when he had to return. A man didn't miss what he'd never known, but to have a taste of release from his turmoil only to be tossed back on the rack every time the woman rushed off to that infernal baseball player of hers was the worst cruelty he'd ever endured.

"_If only she would..._"

"... _What? Come to you instead? Dream on Monkey!_"

Vegeta's tail bristled around his waist and his eyes turned to rubies with the stirring of the Oozaru, reflexively readying to fend off the wraith whose shrill mockery even the grave wouldn't silence.

The ghost was right though. However unworthy the scarred human was, it wasn't as if he himself could offer the woman any better -- hypothetically speaking of course. Bulma was too smart to sabotage her niche with Yamcha for a tryst with a lost cause like him and the knowledge brought the Saiyan an aberrant brand of stinging relief. He knew intuitively that being one with her would take him to a place of tranquillity he didn't want to visit. He'd endured so much suffering and through the years he'd grown dependent on it. Hatred was the furnace from where he drew his power while pain fuelled the flames and he needed both to remain strong. He knew no other way. Fortunately he had nothing to fear, because the one creature that could pacify him would never seek him out and thus he'd never have to fight the temptation of welcoming her. Bulma's desire for him was merely a pipedream he dabbled in during wistful moments and thankfully the instances were short-lived.

His evolution to Super-Saiyan and defeating his adversaries were obtainable goals at least. Those were the only pursuits of importance to him, but the plateau he'd reached in his training -- the intended focus of his meditation -- was driving him berserk. All he really wanted, all he'd ever wanted, was to fulfil the prophecy and claim the title of most powerful warrior in the Universe.

Was that really so much to ask?!

Vegeta blamed his procrastination on his less than consistent workout schedule of the last few weeks, but he would not tolerate it a minute longer. He had more discipline than that. He was the Prince of Saiyans and it was time he started acting like it again; the Earth, the woman and his hormones all be damned! The second Bulma got home from work he would demand that she finish his new drones within the week and upgrade the gravity simulator with another 50 Gs, just to make things interesting. Perhaps then, if he'd strained his body and mind beyond all conceivable limits -- even those his very sanity imposed -- he would finally be able to force himself across the elusive threshold. He could feel the mythical power swimming through the currents of his blood, twisting like a serpent in his veins, yet refusing to submit to his control. Sometimes the golden drake would indulge him after he'd pushed himself beyond every barrier of endurance, infusing with his life energy and allowing him to ride its golden coils for the briefest of instances, only to flee from him again as it had all those years ago in Frieza's audience hall. It was as though the Legend itself was ridiculing him. It was right there in front of him, but still out of reach; so close yet so far... just like the woman.

Vegeta cursed at his perpetuated lack of focus and dropped his head into his hands, raking his fingers through his thick ebony mane. The warrior couldn't believe that he'd just compared that pestilence of a female to the Golden Fleece of his ancestors! It was sacrilege for Kami's sake!

"_It's the fucking rut; it has to be._" The prince chastised himself for what could've well been the hundredth time, but even in his mind the rebuke was losing conviction...

--------------

"_What are you doing here, Bulma?_" The woman asked herself for the fifteenth time in as many minutes while exiting the elevator on the eleventh floor of her boyfriend's posh apartment building, rising from the heart of uptown West City. Through the grace of Kami, Izumi's presentation had ended without any inquiries. The vote was close, but favourable and she now had a truckload of paperwork to sort through in order to set things in motion for the first prototype regen-tanks to be produced. She didn't have time for pussyfooting with Yamcha, for fuck's sake! Yet she was unable to turn back and found herself demurely following her feet down the empty hallway, hating the way her heels clicked loudly on the tiles, making her feel oddly vulnerable as if she were going to awaken some slumbering carnivore with the confounded noise.

When she'd reached her destination after what seemed like a very long, yet too short a walk, the woman stared at the closed door for a few seconds, chewing on her bottom lip as she gathered her wits and took a deep breath before knocking forcefully to make her presence known.

"Hello Yamcha." Bulma said politely as her long-term boyfriend appeared in the doorway, but instead of being greeted by the habitual "Hey Babe!" accompanied with a good-natured grin, she was met with a terse "Hi," a set jaw and a scowl. Bulma was slightly taken aback by his hostility, but it was his attire that unsettled her most of all. It was only 6:22 pm, yet he was dressed in an unfastened bathrobe, sporting nothing underneath except a pair of black silk boxers with a little red cartoon character and the words "horny devil" imprinted on them. Bulma frowned apprehensively as she took in the sight of him.

Was it her imagination or did he reek of cheap woman's perfume?

"Can I come in?" She asked testily when he extended no invitation and motioned to enter the apartment without waiting for an answer.

"I've got company. What do you want?" Yamcha said bluntly, blocking her entry with an extended arm.

"Company? Wearing **that**?" Bulma questioned, a tide of cold trepidation rising inside her. Yamcha was about to respond when a high-pitched voice sounded from the depths of the apartment, sending pins and needles down Bulma's spine and making her hackles stand on end.

"Yamchikins! I'm getting lonely in here!" A female called out in a suggestive, singsong tone that could only belong to Krillin's sluttish, once again ex-girlfriend, Marron.

"Just a minute Babe!" Yamcha shouted over his shoulder into the flat, a tawdry grin fluttering across his face before his frown slipped back in place, his attention returning to the woman in front of him.

"... Well?" He demanded, arching a brow inquisitively as if what had just transpired was the most mundane thing in the world.

Bulma backed away from him as though he'd pointed a loaded gun at her, an expression of utter abhorrence scrawled across her features as the colour leeched from her cheeks. She felt her throat constrict and her eyes stung with impending moisture, the horrible reality of the scene hitting home with all the brutal intensity of an energy beam through the heart. Along with her pain however, uncensored anger unfurled within her, darkening her irises to a deep shade of indigo as her rage overruled her heartache.

"**You son of a bitch...!**" Bulma screamed lividly, oblivious to the bite of her perfectly manicured nails digging crescent shaped wounds in the palms of her fisted hands.

"... You have two seconds to come up with a show stopping explanation for what's going on here, because Yamcha, I swear to Kami..."

"**Don't you fucking dare!**" He interjected before she could finish the threat.

"... I warned you, Bulma! I told you if you didn't get rid of that alien trash we were through and you made your choice! If you wanna be mad at someone, maybe you should take a long, hard look in a mirror, 'cause you have nobody to blame for this but **yourself**!" By this point several of Yamcha's neighbours had cracked their doors and some even poked their heads out into the hallway to investigate the racket they were causing. Yamcha noticed this and grated his teeth irately, straining for the control to lower his voice.

"... **You** might be in the running for frigid bitch of the century, but -- believe it or not -- there are plenty of chicks who don't consider it a chore to spend time with me and one of **them **is in there waiting as we speak..." He gestured into his apartment by shoving a thumb over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off his ashen-faced girlfriend "... so if you're not here to tell me that Vegeta has found alternative housing, then we have nothing more to say to each other!" He ground out, breathing audibly through his nostrils as he finished.

His eyes lingered upon hers for a moment and Bulma thought she saw a flicker of emotion -- something like regret -- pass across his countenance, but it vanished too quickly for her to be sure. She stared aghast at the man she had loved since childhood; unable to reconcile the scene before her with everything she thought she knew about him. Yamcha was many things, but she never thought such cold-blooded cruelty would be counted among his attributes. Her gaze hardened, chilling the man to the bone as she glowered at him through pools of azure ice, an impassive façade held firmly in place despite the flurry of wry sorrow and seething rancour that was festering inside her. She pursed her lips in a thin line, fighting back the mist clouding her vision and took a long stride towards Yamcha, placing her within arm's length of him. She pulled back her right hand and landed a forceful slap on his cheek, the blood her nails had drawn from her palm leaving a faint smear of rouge in its wake.

She knew that he could have easily blocked the blow if he'd wanted to, yet he didn't. Perhaps he was being gracious in allowing her an outlet for her anguish, but the likelier explanation -- in Bulma's mind at least -- was that he simply wanted to cause her more pain; the injury she'd done to herself clearly outweighing any damage inflicted on him. The sound of her hand connecting with his face hung in the air like a death knell, a harrowing moment frozen in time as the last ember of their love faded and died, leaving behind nothing but cold, grey ash to be scattered in the wind.

He leered at her callously for a second before retreating back into his apartment. He moved with such speed that Bulma could barely discern a blur of movement followed by the door slamming shut in her face, a deafening ring of finality chiming in the harsh echo.

The woman wrapped her battered pride around her like an armoured cloak; painfully aware of the onlookers' eyes boring into her back as she made her lone retreat down the hall toward the elevators. She hardly noticed the droplets that were streaming down her face in seemingly endless succession and found herself welcoming the sting in her hands as it drew attention away from the dull throbbing in the rest of her body. She pounded the lifts' "down" button with a numb forefinger, desperate to escape as quickly as possible.

The gossipmongers were sure to have a field day once news of this juicy little scandal spread, but Bulma couldn't care less as she boarded the elevator after what felt like an infinitely long wait.

'Hallelujah' by Rufus Wainwright

Next Chapter: Dealing with the break-up blues...

Sorry to those of you that were hoping for some B/V interacting in this one The next chapter will make up for it though, I promise --

Oh and don't forget to review!


	10. BREAKDOWN

I know, I suck for making you guys wait so long for this update Hopefully it was worth it. Praises go to Shen Long, Kyra Fable and Meliza Mac for beta-ing -- I've said it before, but you guys really, truly are the best -- as well as Citali and Gie for lending a helping hand -- This chapter is dedicated to my sister, who recently broke up with her boyfriend of two years. May she find her prince soon!

**ACCIDENTAL REDEMPTION**

**By Evil Saint**

**X. BREAKDOWN**

--Simple living is my desperate cry

Been trading love with indifference

Yeah it suits me just fine

I try to hold on but I'm callused to the bone

Maybe that's why I feel alone

Maybe that's why I feel so alone

Vegeta inhaled deeply, breathing in the clean scents of soap and water as he closed his eyes and braced his palms against the cool tiles. A light tremor rippled through him when the first drops of the shower's chilly spray flowed over his drowsy frame, shocking his muscles into red alert for the day's training that lay ahead. The woman had been crying most of the night again and for some unfathomable reason her sobbing was robbing him of rest. He'd spent his life on battlefields and military bases, constantly subjected to the most grating cacophony of noises imaginable. Explosions, screams and drunken brawls were his lullabies as a child, yet the woman's mewling seemed to tug on the very edges of his awareness, making the already difficult task of relaxing enough to fall asleep a complete impossibility for his high-strung self.

"_Just when I thought this warped hellhole couldn't fuck me up any further..._" He chuckled, the thought made amusing by his lack of sleep. Under normal circumstances, Saiyans could go for weeks without rest and not suffer any impairment whatsoever, but training in 400 Gs for an average of twelve hours a day was enough to dent even Vegeta's iron endurance. His body demanded more rest than usual and he needed a few hours' shuteye each night to keep functioning properly -- which he wasn't getting of late and exhaustion was starting take its toll on the prince.

It all started that night after his failed meditation attempt in the Himalayas...

--------------

Vegeta returned to the dome shortly after sunset and was waiting in the living room for Bulma to come home from work, intending to corner her about his training machines, but the guise she wore as she entered the house instantly crumbled his conviction and left him too stunned to utter a word. She looked as he'd never seen her before, like a ghost who'd just been turned away from the Pearly Gates, sentenced to an eternity in purgatory, and it struck him like a punch in the gut. She rushed past him without any words of acknowledgement, practically running up the stairs and he heard the door to her room slam shut a few moments later.

He was curious to know why she seemed so upset, but the only method he knew of dealing with distraught females -- a swift snap of the neck -- wouldn't exactly suffice under the present circumstances. The woman's moods were as fickle as the weather in any event, turbulent one instant and temperate the next, and so he decided it best to simply stay the hell out of her way until this new storm blew over and she was back to her old self...

Days went by, turning into a week, yet her capricious nature failed to intervene. Albeit, they hadn't really spoken in that time, it didn't even take a full twenty-four hours for Vegeta to learn the cause of his housemate's distress. The Saiyan didn't get out much, but with every tabloid, gossip column and cheesy celebrity show on Japanese television blaring out the news like it was a matter of public importance, he'd have to be comatose not to know that the recreant baseball player had called off their courtship. He knew humans didn't Bond the same way Saiyans did, made obvious by the ease with which the scared bastard disposed of his long-time mate, but it had also become sickeningly evident that Bulma was going through some sort of withdrawal and Vegeta had no idea how to handle it.

She'd worked overtime on and off over the past two months, but since Yamcha rejected her, the exception was fast becoming the rule. When she was home, the woman rarely ventured beyond her bedroom, and when she did, she walked around in a zombie-like trance with her shoulders hunched and eyes cast down as if she'd lost the will to face the world. Vegeta was getting the feeling that she was neglecting her health as well, not eating anything substantial and not sleeping well at night, and to his vexation he was beginning to worry about her faculties.

On Friday she locked herself in her parents' den and her fluctuating life-force drew him there the following morning. The prince received no answer when he called to her and finally forced the door open, finding her passed out in the old doctor's high back chair, cradling a half empty bottle of scotch and reeking of the contents. Once he'd established that she wouldn't die of alcohol poisoning, he was momentarily torn between leaving her where she was and taking her to her room to sleep it off. After some deliberation he opted for the latter, fearing that she might fall and get herself killed if she awoke and tried to make it down the stairs on her own.

Somewhat awkwardly he carried her to her room, thankful when she didn't stir, and deposited her on the large, unmade bed. It was the first time he'd entered her sleeping quarters and he arched a brow at the disarray. She hadn't programmed the servo-bots to tidy up in a few days and clothes were strewn everywhere -- on the floor, across the furniture and even flung over the doors of her walk-in wardrobe. Used Kleenexes littered the bed and carpet, while a picture frame lay face down next to the nightstand, surrounded by small shards of glass from the shattered cover. An assortment of knickknacks, photo albums and what seemed to be the remains of a decapitated fake animal lay in a heap against the far wall, apparently having borne the brunt of the woman's anger at her erstwhile mate. In the middle of the room sat her Capsule Corp. briefcase, a silent witness to the events that brought about the reigning chaos.

Judging from her meticulous work sheds, Vegeta had assumed that Bulma's room would be equally neat, but clearly the woman wasn't quite as organised when it came to her personal affairs. Thankfully the door to her in-suite bathroom was closed. He didn't even want to see what abominations were brooding in **there**! And he was suddenly glad that she **did** have a washroom all her own and thus hardly ever used the one down the hall. Sharing a bathroom with a female -- a messy one at that -- was one kind of horror he definitely didn't need to experience!

The object of his musings mumbled something incoherent and shifted in her sleep, redirecting Vegeta's attention from the chaotic surroundings to the equally dishevelled female before him. What a pathetic image she presented sprawled across the tangled sheets, snoring softly with her eyes swollen and crusty, her nose red and chafing in sharp contrast to the ashen colour of her tearstained cheeks. She looked... broken. There was no trace of the fiery, almost Saiyan-like woman he'd grudgingly grown to respect and the prince's features hardened into cold disgust as he looked her over -- though even he wasn't entirely sure if the emotion was directed at his hostess or the craven prick responsible for her piteous condition.

Glass crunched beneath Vegeta's sneakers as he turned to leave and drew his attention to the upturned frame on the floor. Acting on impulse, he stooped and picked it up, turning it over to reveal the photo encased inside. It was an old picture of Bulma and Yamcha taken in a park somewhere, judging from the verdant vegetation in the background. She was wearing a white, lace-up blouse with a crown of small white flowers adorning her hair, the warmth of summer reflected in her ruby red smile. She was pressed up close to the smirking male beside her, her arms entwined fondly around his neck and jubilation shining in her vibrant azure eyes.

Vegeta frowned, finding it hard to believe that the same person who brought her such joy in the picture was also the source of her current depression. Carefully he pulled the picture from its casing, holding it between his thumb and forefinger as he channelled a small amount of energy into his hand. He watched with malicious delight as the glowing heat enfolded the photo in his grasp, making the human's grinning visage contort and writhe as if in pain, slowly shrivelling into a tiny black ball to be ground to dust in the Saiyan's fist. When the picture was thoroughly destroyed, Vegeta stood and stole a last glance at the woman on the bed. For a fleeting second he toyed with the idea of actually hunting down the man responsible for her tears and awarding him with a one way trip to the Next Dimension, before walking out and shutting the door on both his bloodthirsty thoughts and the sleeping female that inspired them...

Bulma didn't set foot outside her room for the rest of the weekend and by Sunday evening Vegeta's small scrap of patience had worn thin. Mustering his annoyance, he rapped on her door to insist that she drag her "lazy ass" out of bed and upgrade the pod's maximum to 450 Gs as he'd planned to do several days earlier. He desperately wanted to up the stakes and get stronger, but his long-awaited set of new and improved combat drones had yet to be assembled and with the woman in the state she was in, it was frustratingly clear that the enhanced models weren't going to be built anytime soon. In the meantime he could at least use some extra gravity to increase the efficiency of his workouts. He also needed a full night's sleep for once and with a bit of luck, the upgrade would take her mind off her dead romance and stave off her bawling long enough for him to achieve that, thereby killing two birds with one stone.

He hammered incessantly on her door and bellowed orders, but it was only after he threatened to tear the house down around her that he got a reaction. Silence had lingered for several seconds and he was on the verge of ramming a fist through her bedroom wall, when a muffled sniffle and the creaking of bedsprings met his ears, followed by soft footfalls over plush carpeting coming toward the door. An instant later the wood swung open and the woman pushed past him wordlessly. She was wearing the exact same T-shirt and shorts she'd been sporting two days prior and the Saiyan's nose immediately informed him that the outfit was well overdue for some airing out. He was going to comment on it, but held his tongue at the last second. She was out of her room at the very least and he didn't want to jeopardize what little progress had been made by sending her back in there to change.

It had taken her an abnormally long time to complete the upgrade, toiling into the wee hours of the morning before retiring indoors. Vegeta was just about to hit the hay himself -- after spending hours of mind numbing boredom counting pushups on the lawn to see how many he could do in normal gravity before breaking a sweat -- when he heard her trudging into the dome. If the Saiyan was tired then the human had to be exhausted, yet she still managed to stay awake for the better part of the night, weeping her eyes out over that weakling and keeping Vegeta up right along with her.

He dozed off just before sunrise, only to be roused less than an hour later by the irksome little feline yowling in supplication outside his bedroom. Bulma had probably forgotten to fill the creature's food dish the night before, indicating that Vegeta wasn't the only male in the household paying for another man's crime. It was going to be a sweltering day, likely the last of the season, and the first rays of dawn had already warmed his room. The warrior was used to getting up at first light and it was force of habit more than anything else that made him abandon any further attempt at slumber and steered him to seek the harsh revival of a cold shower first thing in the morning...

--------------

If things carried on this way, he was going to have to start sleeping in the GT-pod.

"_You're acting like a complete idiot! What would your father think if he knew you were tossing and turning over some snivelling Earthling?!_" Vegeta chided himself at the prospect of having to exchange his nice comfy bed for the hard bunk in the ship, scrubbing his skin raw in a subconscious effort to literally wash the woman out of his system.

Reasoning that he was alert enough, the prince turned the hot water on full blast, shuddering with delight as the icy jets turned deliciously warm against his skin. He allowed himself to revel in the liquid's soothing heat for several minutes after he'd finished washing, feeling the knots in his muscles untangle under the pummelling pressure. It was a glorious sensation and he would've basked in it all day if he could, but before long the call of duty became too loud to ignore. With a slightly pained sigh the warrior relinquished his small indulgence and turned the water off, spirals of steam rising from his naked form as he stepped out of the cubicle. With a towel riding low on his hips, Vegeta strutted back to his room and donned his training gear before heading downstairs, straight into the kitchen to appease his growling stomach.

With the exception of the microwave, Vegeta had never taken the time to familiarise himself with the intricate workings of the cooking appliances. He wouldn't turn down a cooked meal if it was offered to him, but most foods tasted better raw in his opinion. The only thing remotely enjoyable about his rut-driven hunting trips was the salty tang of fresh kill. No gourmet dish in the Universe could compare to meat, straight off a carcass with the still warm blood washing over his palate -- a partiality shared by all his kind.

Water was a rare commodity on Planet Vegeta and for centuries Saiyans had to rely almost exclusively on the bodily fluids of their prey to stay hydrated. Of course that all changed once space travel became commonplace in their sector of the Universe. It didn't take long for interstellar trade to form an integral part of Vegetan economy and water was one of the major imports from conquered worlds, providing a steady supply for the entire populous. The Saiyans' survival instincts were fiercely keen however, and the thirst for blood was irreversibly branded onto the primitive, animalistic part of their brains, turning a once crucial nutritional need into a compulsive craving -- a lot like humans' desire for sugar. Training was Vegeta's first and last priority though, affording him no time for recreational hunting and so enjoyment of this simple delicacy had pretty much become a non-occurrence in his daily routine. Usually his breakfast was comprised of whatever took the least time to prepare, like leftovers of the previous night's dinner or, more recently, the pre-prepared meals that Bulma liked to keep in stock. On this particular morning though, he was in serious need of an energy boost, aggravating his already crappy mood, and he had to fuel up on something a little more sustaining than the processed atrocities he normally choked down if he was going to test himself thoroughly against the gravity pod's new settings.

"_Perhaps this will be it; the day you transcend your limits and prove yourself worthy of what was foretold..._" The Golden Power whispered from within, purring in his veins like a teasing lover and his tail twitched around his waist, the velvety fur standing on end as a primal growl rumbled from his very soul, answering the challenge of his blood.

He crouched down and started foraging through the refrigerator's contents, following his nose until he found what he was seeking. The half dozen sirloin steaks Bulma's mother had bought before leaving for Africa was the closest thing to Saiyan comfort food he could hope for without actually stalking after prey and the animal protein would go a long way toward upping his strength for the bone bruising workout he had planned. Vegeta had sensed Bulma's energy moving about in her quarters as he came downstairs, indicating that she'd also given up on the quest for sleep. From what he knew of Earthling customs, he suspected that the woman wouldn't be very understanding if she entered the kitchen to find him mauling on a heap of uncooked cattle, but he was far from bothered. Most human sensibilities about food were ridiculous as far as he was concerned and if she wanted to deplete his energy by keeping him awake with her persistent whimpering, then she would just have to deal with the gory consequences.

He deftly removed the stiffly frozen steaks from the airtight packaging, stacked all six pieces on a large plate and shoved the whole pile into the microwave to defrost. However, after twelve minutes of waiting he became impatient and pulled the plate from the oven to implement his energy instead. Six small zaps and a few seconds later, he plopped down at the table with a pile of steaming, extremely rare sirloin and started tearing into his meal. The blood was a little watery from the melted ice, but the meat was tender and quite tasty otherwise, all and all providing a nice change from his regular menu of instant ramen and cold chicken domburi.

"_Wonder where the little pest ran off too._"Vegeta pondered disinterestedly, savouring the morsel in his mouth as he glanced at the corner where Scratch's food and water bowls resided. The cat's howling had ceased the second the Saiyan entered the hall, replaced by the sound of clawed paws scrambling frantically across the carpet to avoid the warrior's wrath. Quite shrewd for its size, the tenuous animal had learned right off the cuff that the alien prince was nothing like the doting bipeds it was accustomed to and aside from daring the occasional sniff when Vegeta was dining, the feline normally kept a wise distance from the royal elite...

The soft click of a door handle turning on the second level pulled Vegeta from his idle musings over the Briefs family pet, his acute hearing picking up the rustle of footsteps moving through the hallway and across the landing. He listened as his housemate climbed down the stairwell, stopping briefly when she touched down in the living room to be joined by the pitter-patter of padded feet -- answering the question of the cat's whereabouts. She came traipsing into the kitchen a minute later with the critter meandering about her legs, making curt mewling noises in a tone that sounded like it was scolding her for her oversight. She made no effort to greet the Saiyan and he responded in kind, grimacing as he watched her slouch to the pantry to replenish the insistent animal's food supply. Her turquoise tresses had lost their lustre, clinging dully to her features and Vegeta couldn't help but wonder when last she'd washed her hair. Her bloodshot eyes were sunken, bearing deep shadows underneath and the effects of her recent poor eating habits were visible in the way the skirt of her business suit sagged off her hips. Her blouse was noticeably loose as well, creating an overall picture of despondent vulnerability rather than the confident corporate tycoon she was supposed to portray.

The paradox was appalling and Vegeta swiftly returned his attention to his succulent steaks, lest he loose his appetite. The prince had certainly broken bread around far more repugnant beings while in Frieza's employ, but in Bulma's case, her derelict appearance was testimony to her ongoing infatuation with the human fighter and that inflating his disgust. Vegeta knew the resilience of her feisty persona. He'd seen her triumph in the face of great adversity and falling to pieces now, merely because some loser had realised his inadequacies and withdrew his affection, was a disgrace on her part and downright repulsive to witness.

"_I wish she'd snap out of it already!_" He thought, vexed with his ineptitude at resolving the situation. He tore off a portion of meat between his fingers, stuffing it in his mouth like a savage to restrain an agitated growl as a hushed sigh escaped the pantry where the woman was putting away the cat pellets. There was no room for what Earthlings deemed "love" in Frieza's legions, hence no one ever mourned its loss. If a soldier did fall into an emotional slump, they'd simply be tortured by whoever possessed the powerlevel to do so until they either died or returned to their senses. Even in his father's court there was no tolerance for open shows of weakness. King Vegeta was well aware of the horrors that transpired in the Frost Emperor's purging squads, but as the crown prince and future leader of the Saiyan people, he expected his son to weather his trials and remain strong, projecting the pride and power of his station at all times regardless of whatever turmoil he was enduring on the inside. Vegeta wanted to grab the woman by the shoulders and shake her. He wanted to scream at her that her behaviour was unacceptable for someone of her standing, but he had a hunch that that would only make matters worse, leaving him no choice but to sit passively and look on as everything he'd come to appreciate about her slowly faded away.

Unbeknownst to the Saiyan though, Bulma was shamefully aware of his contempt for her emotional breakdown as she shoved the bag of Meow Mix™ back onto a shelf. It was unmistakably evident from the unsympathetic way he'd coerced her from her room the previous evening, but the shock of her abrupt split with Yamcha was still too fresh and her heart too raw to put up a brave front solely for Vegeta's benefit. It was awfully disconcerting when she stepped downstairs to be greeted by the telltale fluttering in her belly, making her hackles bristle as his life-force entwined with her own. She wasn't accustomed to getting up with the sun. Vegeta was usually training by the time she came down for breakfast and she'd cursed herself for not taking a quick peek out her window to see if the GT-pod was indeed in use before leaving the safe, non-judgemental haven of her sleeping quarters.

She'd dawdled at the bottom of the stairs, seriously contemplating a retreat back to the second story and barricading herself in her room until the familiar humming from the gravity simulator notified her that it was safe to come out. Unfortunately, Scratch chose that moment to appear from the den, negating all her plans of escape with one look at the accusation reflected in his glowing eyes. Her conscience flared instantaneously upon seeing the cat's discontentment and her guilt for neglecting her father's favourite fur ball overrode some of her qualms at being in the same room as the Saiyan Prince. She knew Vegeta had already sensed her in any case, and not wanting him to add cowardice to her list of shortcomings, Bulma squared her shoulders as best she could and walked into the kitchen. She couldn't bear to look at him though, fearing the disdain bound to be reflected in every nuance of his demeanour, and so she pretended to ignore him as she moved almost mechanically around the room.

It wasn't until Scratch was crunching happily by his bowl and she herself was standing against the counter with a nice hot mug of java in hand that Bulma snuck a peek at the Saiyan by the table, her eyes widening as she noticed for the first time what he was consuming. By then Vegeta was once again engrossed in his food and didn't realise that he was being watched until she spoke up.

"Um... is that... raw?" The woman inquired tentatively, her eyebrows knitted in disbelief. The Saiyan looked up from his plate and a wicked glint sparked in his onyx irises as he deliberately sank his canines into a particularly juicy cut. He ripped off a large bite, eating with slow relish while looking her straight in the eye, silently daring her to comment. Bulma held his gaze with intrigued abhorrence, her complexion becoming closer to Piccolo's with every movement of his jaw. He finished chewing and swallowed, watching her throat contract to push down bile as he licked the blood from his fingers.

He nearly laughed at that. She was so easily shocked.

"Yes it is. Would you like some?" He answered at leisure, his tone neutral as he lifted a dripping steak from his plate and held it out to her.

"Ugh! You're disgusting." Bulma groused and spun around, drinking her coffee with her back to him.

Vegeta's countenance was carefully guarded as he huffed and set about devouring the remainder of his breakfast, but in truth he was disappointed and a little frustrated that his taunt hadn't gotten more of a rise out of her. He'd baited the woman on purpose in a rather crude effort to instigate one of the verbal face-offs that had become somewhat of a game between them, but she clearly wasn't playing along. An argument would've been comforting though, giving some semblance of normalcy to their dealings. It had been quite a while since their last showdown and Bulma's current indifference was affecting him like a human child whose favourite plaything had been stolen away. His mind drifted back in time to revisit the subtle intimacy of their conversations in the den and something strikingly similar to dismay lanced through him at the possibility that it might be lost forever.

Vegeta frowned as his pride mocked him for his un-warrior-like thoughts. He wasn't **this** fretful when Raditz -- his council and battle-kin of seventeen years -- was murdered, so why in the Legend's name was he so bothered by the apathy of an alien female he'd only known briefly by comparison?

The Saiyan squirmed slightly in discomfiture, angry with the whole situation, and promptly shrugged off the unwanted emotions. He stared pensively into his plate as he ate while the woman drank her coffee, both lost in their own thoughts. When she finished, Bulma placed her mug in the dishwasher and proceeded to the control panel on the opposite wall to program the servo-bots for an overall cleaning of the house.

"_About time._" Vegeta thought to himself, recalling the mess in her chambers, but he was less impressed when she left the kitchen immediately after instructing the drones. He'd expected her to have **some** breakfast at least. The prince had often marvelled at how little Earth beings could sustain themselves on -- probably the only benefit of having such minuscule energy signatures -- but she'd eaten hardly anything the entire weekend and she **had** to be hungry by now. It couldn't be good for her working the hours she was with nothing but a measly cup of black liquid to sustain her.

"Where're you going?" He called after her before he could stop himself, anticipating the answer.

"To work." Her voice rose sourly from the living room. She'd found her purse on the coffee table and was rifling through it in search of the capsule containing her car.

"Why, you've never gone this early before?" If his interest surprised her, she didn't reveal it in her reply.

"I wanna beat traffic."

Vegeta still felt besieged to say something to her, but the scene was strange to his frame of reference and words failed him; the everyday sounds of items shifting in Bulma's purse, Scratch's avid chewing and the bleeping of awakening servo-bots becoming loud in the loaded silence that ensued. After a few minutes' digging, Bulma located her vehicle and left, the only hint to her departure being the fall of her footsteps as she walked from the living room, through the foyer and out the front door.

Vegeta listened dispassionately to the small explosion emanating from the driveway as she decapsulated her car and sped off to oversee her father's empire, refocusing his thoughts on the legacy his own sire had passed onto him. He made short work of the remaining steaks, washed the meat down with a carton of milk, and marched purposefully to the spherical spacecraft on the lawn, determination bright in his dark eyes as it shone from the very deepest reaches of his soul.

Inside the pod, he headed to the controls and decided to warm up with a few rounds of mid-air shadowboxing at 405 times the Earth's gravity, striving to go up to 415 by the end of the day. His energy spiked with the increasing pull when the simulation was engaged, tendrils of lapis lazuli blasting from his body as he levitated off the floor in defiance of the titanic resistance. He gnashed his teeth, preparing for the extra five Gs, but just as the machine reached the 400 mark, sparks blitzed inside the control console and the next second all hell broke loose: The gravity became erratic, plummeting to 29 Gs before jumping almost instantaneously to 376, dropping once more to 114... Vegeta was caught off guard and the counter force of his energy -- which was adjusted to 400 Gs -- nearly catapulted him through the ceiling as the gravity lowered. He hastily tried to adjust his equilibrium accordingly, only to be yanked violently to the ground when the G-force hiked up again. Warning lights blinked frantically while the computer's deadpan voice repeated the phrases --Simulator Malfunction-- and --Emergency Shutdown: Immanent-- over and over until the voice hitched to a high, squeaky pitch and finally lowered into a deep slurring before silencing completely. The gravity abruptly returned to normal and the lights went dead, darkening the pod as thick swirls of black smoke billowed from the control unit, filling the chamber and almost smothering the aggravated occupant. Vegeta hauled himself up, coughing spasmodically to clear his lungs and navigated a path through the opaque clouds toward the controls. Once there, he bent down, feeling heat radiating from the central computer and upped his energy as a precautionary measure in case of an explosion, using his shirt to further insulate his hands as he removed a side panel to determine the extent of the damage.

"Ai'et gazan." He swore under his breath, fanning the smoke away from his face with one hand while palming his sore hip and shoulder with the other as his eyes traversed the mess of spitting wires and singed circuits that used to be the GT-pod's mainframe.

**This was the last straw! **

The pod had been working fine the day before, so obviously the woman had done something horrendously wrong during the alleged upgrade. Bulma could spend the rest of her life sulking over that moron for all Vegeta cared, but he was a whole lot less accommodating when her pining got in the way of his progress to Super Saiyan. She'd only just left for work and probably wouldn't return until late that night, but Vegeta had no intention of wasting a whole day's training time waiting for her. No, the woman was supposed to upgrade his pod and by Kami, that was precisely what she was going to do, even if he had to drag her to the estate by her hair!

Peeved beyond words, Vegeta stormed back to the mansion to change into Earthling apparel, the lone outfit in the pod being somewhat inaccessible behind the pungent acridity filling the spaceship's interior. He was rather overwhelmed when he took in the sheer volume of clothes lining the walk-in closet in his room, feeling strongly tempted to remain in his training clothes. Sadly however, that wasn't a viable option if he wanted to blend inconspicuously into human society. The formfitting blue shorts and tank top weren't exactly commonplace as street wear in West Capitol, nor did it have any room to obscure his tail. With a roll of his eyes and a hateful grunt the prince surrendered to the inevitable and began the arduous task of sorting through the mountain of clothes for something suitable to wear. Some of the garments he found -- a sheer, shimmering purple shirt and a cheetah-pattern thong among others -- gave him serious pause about the elder Briefs woman's sanity. Not wanting to suffer a repeat of the "Bad Man" incident, it took him nearly forty-five minutes to piece together an outfit that wasn't too frilly or lurid, finally settling on blue jeans, black trainers and an army camouflage T-shirt that neatly covered his trademark Saiyan appendage.

Satisfied with his appearance, Vegeta leapt from the balcony and took to the sky, honing in on the towering buildings peeking over the horizon. The warrior reigned in his haste as he flew, carefully monitoring his pace, lest the shockwave of his speed cause havoc on the terrain and draw unnecessary attention to him and his unusual, to Earthlings, mode of travel.

Near the city Vegeta dropped altitude until he was only a few metres off the ground, avoiding the heavy air traffic that buzzed about the metropolis like insects around a rotting corpse. Flying low, he covered the last few kilometres in a matter of seconds, bringing him to the city limits where he rested his feet soundlessly upon the cracked asphalt of a deserted warehouse district to assess his surroundings.

Not being much of a crowd person, Vegeta had steered clear of Earth's major settlements in the past and this was the first time he'd really gotten a good look at a human metropolis. It wasn't all that different form the thousands of its ilk he'd left in ruins under Frieza's orders. The stench of burnt fossil fuel laced the air and the low murmur of traffic was clearly audible from the heavily used network of roads leading into Japan's Western Capitol. Many skyscrapers sprung from the heart of the city, but even at a distance the Capsule Corp. tower was unmistakable. The building was an architectural masterpiece of sleek symmetry -- its two-hundred odd stories reaching heights unparalleled in the rest of the world. The colossal CC trademark crowned the majestic structure at its summit, scraping the skyline like a royal banner and leaving no doubt as to whom resided at the top of this concrete jungle's food chain.

Vegeta regarded the sight with a baleful sneer and shoved his hands in his pockets before wandering toward the inner-city, fuming inwardly as he joined the thousands of pedestrians bustling along the sidewalks en route to the capitol's centre of commerce...

--------------

Bulma swivelled to and fro in her father's armchair, peering aimlessly across the magnificent view from a large corner office in the mighty Capsule Corp. tower -- the penthouse reserved specifically for the company president. After Yamcha had dumped her, this office became her sanctuary. It was devoid of anything that reminded her of her former beau and it was also the one place where she was free of her housemate's caustic scrutiny. While she was there, she could devote her mind and energy to perfunctory duties and impersonal banter with people who had no clue or care about her broken heart, simply functioning on autopilot, immersed in the numb sublimity of non-feeling. She'd buried herself in paperwork, coming in early and leaving late, but now the young executive was facing an unprecedented dilemma. She'd been slaving like a robot and managed to burn through her entire administrative workload for the next fortnight in a couple of days without even realising it. Her hands were tied until the various department heads reported back to her, meaning that she found herself with a bare desk.

Her dejection was manageable when she had some or other arbitrary chore to complete, but it was times like these, when she was alone with nothing to distract her from the gnawing emptiness in her soul, that her whole world came crashing down around her.

Bulma's vision clouded with a fresh onslaught of moisture as Yamcha's face, filled with enmity and derision, flashed through her mind. She sucked in a hard breath, spinning her chair to face her desk and buried her head in her folded arms. Her skull throbbed down to her teeth, her eyes were sore from crying all night and her every muscle fibre seemed be aching individually. Minding her mascara, she pressed her lids against the sleeve of her jacket to absorb the tears pooling upon her lashes, wishing that she could just flick a switch in her brain and shut down the procession of agonising memories running tirelessly through her thoughts. If only she could forget about everything she'd shared with Yamcha, both good and bad, the painful spasm in her chest might ease and she'd be able to breathe again.

"_I'm so tired. I wish Hiroe would hurry up with the coffee._" Bulma had scarcely finished the thought when an ominously familiar sensation feathered her awareness. It unfurled in the pit of her stomach and prickled up her spine, sending a wave of goose bumps rippling over her skin and she righted herself with a start -- just in time to see the office door fly open without so much as a knock. Of the roughly six billion sentient beings on the planet, the shuttered countenance scowling at her from across the room was the last she wanted to see at that moment. She didn't know what had possessed him to travel all the way to the corporate district of inner West City, but she was willing to wager her family's fortune that cheering her up wasn't high on his to-do-list.

"... _Dear Kami, give me strength._" She prayed before addressing the visitor.

"Is the compound burning down?" Bulma questioned flatly, not even caring how he got past the building's tight security. Vegeta's eyes narrowed at her unconventional greeting and she swiftly carried on before he could vocalise the mordant comeback he was undoubtedly formulating.

"... If not, then I suggest..." She didn't get a chance to finish the sentence as her assistant appeared in doorway next to the warrior. She was clutching the espresso Bulma had sent her to fetch from the ground floor café, seeing as the company's tearoom wouldn't open until eleven. Hiroe had been a godsend over the past week, curbing the flood of phone calls from the tabloid jackals, carting refreshments up to Bulma's office and running errands for her when she herself lacked the fortitude to confront the ever present paparazzi, but at that precise instant her timing couldn't be more off. Stumbling upon two riled grizzlies in the middle of a territorial feud was never a good thing, and intruding on Bulma and Vegeta when their already volatile tempers were frazzled due to sleep deprivation was even worse...

Vegeta was on the verge of rebuking the anticipated dismissal when a slender female of about Bulma's age materialised beside him. She had straight, shoulder length black hair and her eyes, looking out from behind old-fashioned horn rimmed glasses, were only a few shades lighter than his own. She probably presumed him to be an acquaintance of the cyan-haired heiress' and smiled politely as she pushed into the office, careful not to spill anything from the plastic container in her grasp, but paused in mid stride as her gaze fell on his face. Her brows quirked a fraction and she did a quick double take up and down his physique before hurrying inside and handing the container to her superior. Bulma rose to her feet to take the beverage and thanked the other woman with a wan smile. The girl bowed courteously before coming back to the door, her eyes flicking between the floor and Vegeta as she walked. When she reached the portal, she turned to address her boss, though her attention was firmly trained on the man standing next to her.

"Is there anything else I can get for you, Miss Briefs?"

"Not right now, thank you, Hiroe." Bulma dismissed her assistant in a businesslike tone, but the girl was so busy drooling over Vegeta that an earthquake could've been shaking the building apart and she wouldn't have noticed. Sensing the woman's growing ire at the other Earthling's obvious interest in him, Vegeta let his eyes roam lecherously from her feet to her face, smirking lustily as he met her gaze. It wasn't in his character to be flirtatious and on any other occasion he would've simply ignored the female, but the look of outrage on Bulma's features was priceless and he was dying for a glimpse of her old fire.

Hiroe stood entranced, unconsciously holding her breath while the hottest guy she'd ever seen looked her over like a tasty treat. Her dark brown eyes grew round and she all but gasped as his smouldering charcoal gaze met her own. When his firm lips twisted into a sinfully salacious grin she blushed, snickering like a schoolgirl with her first crush and Bulma had to clench her jaw to keep from cursing at her.

"That'll be all, Miss Mishima!" The CEO commanded through gritted teeth, her palms resting flat on her desk with her fingers curling into claws, her nails scraping murderously across the smooth cherry wood. Logically, Bulma knew she had no cause for jealousy. Vegeta wasn't hers. He was free to leer at whoever he damn well pleased, yet watching the Saiyan flirt with her assistant made her want to gouge the poor girl's eyes out.

"Huh?" Hiroe asked lamely, slowly breaking her stare away from the sex god before her to lock with her employer's death glare. She jolted as if only just realising that Bulma was there and started babbling like an imbecile.

"Oh yeah... of course... I'm going...right now..." She ranted, gesturing haphazardly in the direction of her desk. Unfortunately the still grinning Saiyan re-entered Hiroe's field of vision as she turned to leave and it took a loud throat clearing from Bulma to remind her that leg movement was a prerequisite for walking.

"Sorry." Hiroe squeaked, her face flaming in mortification and scurried back to her desk, her gait betraying her desire for the ground to open and swallow her whole.

"I sincerely hope you didn't come all this way just to terrorise my staff!" Bulma bit out, glowering coolly at the imposing Saiyan.

"Oh I assure you, Woman, there was no terror in her scent." Vegeta drawled, looking very pleased with himself as he pushed off the doorframe and sashayed to her desk with conceited ease, resting his palms on the surface to mirror her pose.

"Ew." Bulma stated loftily and retook her seat, linking her fingers in front of her as she would when interviewing a client. This was **her** domain, the throne room from which she ruled a global business empire, and she'd be damned if she was going to let him intimidate her here.

"... So what the fuck **do** you want?"

"The pod's busted."

"What did you do, asshole?"

"Nothing, bitch..." He shot back without missing a beat "...you're the one who fucked up when you were supposed to be upgrading the Kami-damned thing."

"What are you talking about?"

"A minute after I turned the simulator on it damn near exploded. The computer's totally fried and you have to fix it. I can't lose a whole day's training because of your sloppiness."

"I have to work Vegeta. I can't just take off!" Bulma lied tartly. She'd rather spend the day alone in her office wallowing in self-pity, than at the compound putting up with King Attitude.

"Sure you can Boss, with all the extra hours you put in last week we're way ahead of schedule and you don't have any appointments lined up for today. Go ahead. I'll cover for you if need be." Hiroe's enthusiastic voice suddenly sounded from the intercom on Bulma's desk and the heiress had to fight the urge to grab the device and hurl it at Vegeta upon seeing his mouth curve into a complacent half smirk.

"Look, Woman, I'm not leaving without you. You can come quietly or under duress. It makes no never mind to me, but I doubt **you'd** enjoy being dragged out of here in plain view of your ever so charming employees." He quipped with an infuriatingly nonchalant shrug, his timbre dripping with condescension.

Vegeta had her cornered and Bulma knew better than to expect mercy, but that didn't mean she had to be nice about it.

"Fine!" She spewed venomously and rose from her chair, her bearing every bit as threatening as that of a black mamba readying to strike. She grabbed her briefcase and stormed past the prince, the coveted espresso forgotten on her desk as she made sure to glare daggers at her secretary before turning into the corridor leading to the elevators. Vegeta trailed behind her, relief at her show of temper temporarily outweighing his anger at the fumbled upgrade as he boarded the lift alongside her.

"Heavy traffic..." He intimated with a raised index finger upon seeing the woman's nonplussed expression, explaining why he wasn't taking the high road back to the Briefs estate. Bulma nodded in comprehension before adhering automatically to the unspoken elevator etiquette of staring blankly up at the declining green digits in the upper left corner as the lift lowered. Three elevator changes and an escalator ride later, the pair walked through a couple of large plate-glass doors into the company's vast underground parking area. Even with capsule technology to store employees' cars during office hours, it wouldn't do to simply launch an automobile into the in lane during rush-hour and this lot provided people with a safe place to decapsulate their vehicles at the end of the day before taking to the roads.

"Get back here!" Bulma hissed as she exited the double doors with a speedy sideway motion, stepping behind one of the thick concrete support columns that flanked the entrance to the main building. She grabbed the Saiyan by the shirt and pulled him with her, his start at her brusque antics alone enabling her to manoeuvre him. She looked around nervously, checking for photographers. The underground car park was for use by Capsule Corp. workers only and the security staff was supposed to prevent anyone else from entering, but Bulma had learned long ago just how slippery a tabloid reporter could be when he was after a scoop. The last thing she needed was her and Vegeta's faces smeared all over tomorrow's society pages, with tawdry headlines and cheap speculation about her involvement with the "mysterious dark stranger" or whatever banal description they'd use to sensationalise the whole thing.

Oh how she loathed the media!

When she was sure the coast was clear, Bulma decapsulated her car in the nearest open spot, darted from behind the pillar and hopped in, nearly cracking the window as she hastily slammed the door. Vegeta followed suit, albeit with a great deal more grace than Bulma could manage in her pumps and confining skirt. Inside the car, she fiddled with her seatbelt and started the engine before checking on her passenger, whom she found gaping at her with a rare expression of unnerved befuddlement.

"What's with the feeble attempt at stealth, Woman?" He queried, looking at her as though she'd gone completely off the deep end. Bulma blinked at him, feeling her cheeks warm with embarrassment as she realised how irrational her conduct must seem from his perspective.

"Dodging the paparazzi." She muttered with as much dignity as she could salvage, being deliberately terse to avoid getting into a conversation with him that would inevitably lead to the touchy subject of her break-up with Yamcha. She could practically hear the internal battle his pride was waging with his curiosity. It was unlikely he knew what "paparazzi" meant, but revealing his ignorance about anything was like admitting a weakness and, in all likelihood, physically painful for him to do. As she'd hoped, his arrogance won in the end and they drove off in silence...

Upon arrival at the complex, Bulma hurried up to her room and donned her overalls before joining Vegeta outside the broken-down spacecraft and following him inside. Most of the smoke had vented out the hatchway the Saiyan had left open during his brief sojourn to the city, making the air breathable again. The power supply seemed to have failed completely however, leaving only the sunlight streaming through the small portholes to illuminate the interior. The woman crouched next to the console with the prince at her back, surveying the ruined controls from behind a veil of clinical detachment, but on the inside she was cringing in self-reproach.

"_What if Vegeta had been injured... or worse?_" She chastised herself, straining her retinas in the half-darkness while endeavouring to sort through the mangle of scorched metal, silicone and plastic that was still a fully working computer the night before. Figuring out what needed to be fixed or replaced would be simple enough, but uncovering the cause of the malfunction was a horse of a different colour. It was near impossible to tell from the destroyed components what had gone awry and Bulma couldn't for the life of her recall what she might have done wrong the night before. She couldn't remember what she'd done right either for that matter. She'd been too weary and mentally drained to pay prudent attention to what she was doing and she feared that her current condition wasn't much of an improvement; though one glance at the morose warrior behind her, made it clear that napping for a few hours before remedying the error was out of the question. Utilising Vegeta's sardonic rendition of the malfunction and her own cursory observations, Bulma compiled a list of tools and parts needed for repairs and after a brisk trip to her work shed to gather the required equipment, she was ready to begin -- despite the antsy Saiyan still hovering over her like an irritating wasp!

"How long 'till it's fixed?" Vegeta barked, trying in vain to stay oblivious to the woman's prone, spread legged posture as she slithered through the opened panel into the belly of the central computer. He really was losing his mind. Normally, it took something truly spectacular to arouse him outside a rut, yet here he was, salivating like a rabid canine just from watching the nuisance of a wench squirming on the floor in what was possibly the least beguiling outfit known to mankind.

"I don't know. Just go inside and watch TV or something. I'll call you when it's ready." Her voice echoed from inside the control unit's metal casing as she fumbled with one of the bendable, optical fibre rods she'd clamped to the side of the cavity for a light source.

"I'm not going anywhere, Woman! The last time I left you alone in here you caused a fucking meltdown." He growled, disturbed at the feint reediness infecting his baritone. Perhaps hanging around while she was in **that** position wasn't the soundest course of action after all...

"I'll be careful, OK?" She snapped shrilly, scooting out from under the console to look at him.

"...You peering over my shoulder, second-guessing every little thing I do, isn't going to help any. I'll work a lot faster on my own so go away and amuse yourself for a while. Do you think you can manage that?!"

He scoffed rudely, but did as she bade -- much to Bulma's surprised relief.

"Kami help you if you screw up again, Woman." He warned gruffly from the doorway before sauntering out.

Bulma only rolled her eyes, stifled a yawn and set to work. By now the pod's mainframe was as tediously familiar to her as the back of her right hand and it didn't take long for her mind to start wandering, finally setting on her cataclysmic love life.

"_Even his death wasn't this hard to take_." She reasoned bitterly while pressing a new circuit board into its ruined predecessor's slot. At least when Yamcha had died she still had hope -- a chance to bring him back and regain his love -- but now all she had was a hollow heart and the dour certainty that the all-star would not be the man to fill that void. She'd been with him since she was only a girl. They'd grown up together and he knew her, probably better than anyone else. Yet, after everything they'd withstood, she still wasn't precious enough in his eyes to dissuade him from trampling on her heart; her dignity; to humiliate her as harshly as he could, merely to avenge his masculine ego!

He had cared for her once upon a time and she'd naively believed that that would suffice. Time, however, is as much a corroder as a healer and clearly love was only one of many pillars needed to steel a relationship against its flow. Their affection had become rusted and worn through the years and when the winds of chance came sweeping, their bond was simply too brittle to withstand the gale.

A doleful ache speared through her at the remembrance of the contempt in his eyes when he looked at her the last time. Kami, how dreadful was she if even her wealth and beauty weren't powerful enough incentives to keep a man interested? In all honesty she didn't like the idea of buying companionship, but even the semblance of love had to be preferable to the utter desolation she felt at that moment...

She bit down on her lower lip, fighting back a new tide of tears as a dry sob rattled from her throat. Her body went limp and she closed her eyes, waiting for her breathing to steady, and it was then that she noticed for the first time how ravenous she was. Strangely though, she didn't feel much like eating, but she would have to in order to keep her immune system up and running. Between Vegeta's demands and her responsibilities at CC she couldn't afford the luxury of getting sick. She sighed miserably and got back to the task at hand. The sooner she finished the repairs the sooner she could grab a bite to eat without having to listen to Vegeta whine that she was slacking off. Thankfully, the simulator's core was mostly unscathed and everything else was relatively easy to fix or replace.

She worked systematically, reattaching chips to boards, welding broken circuits closed and mending burnt wires. Fatigue was starting to get the better of her, but she laboured diligently on, serving the masochistic tendencies she'd developed since taking the Prince of Saiyans under her wing. She did some troubleshooting as she worked, trying to determine what had triggered the power surge, but she was still perplexed by the time she'd rebuilt three quarters of the mainframe. Perhaps it was a software glitch that was to blame. She'd been too desperate for a shower and a bed the previous night to wait for the computer to finish a diagnostic scan of the alterations and it could be that the novel protocols weren't wholly compatible with the existing command codes used to regulate the gravity. She'd just have to do a full system evaluation to make sure when she was done fussing with the hardware.

She clicked the last of the relays in place and hoisted her sore figure out from under the controls, grabbed a spare power cable and hooked the newly repaired computer up to the still intact auxiliary generator. The lights blinked on and Bulma wiped the sweat from her forehead, glad to have the climate controls restored as well. She pushed down the large red knob that activated the simulator's mainframe, keeping her fingers crossed, and a broad smile spread on her face as she heard the zing of the hard drive spinning to life followed by the hum of the computer booting up. The large overhead view screen flashed into action and Bulma raised her eyes, expecting to see the Capsule Corp. logo and then the command interface appear, but her smile turned to a perplexed frown as she instead found herself staring at strings of incomprehensible machine script streaming madly across the screen. She backed up from the console, trying to read the symbols zooming about on the monitor as a means of figuring out what the computer was processing, but the text was moving too fast for her to decipher. Suddenly the codes stilled, becoming stagnant on the screen except for a last command prompt flashing in the bottom left corner:

gsim/X400/status/:executing...

Bulma's eyes widened to saucers, ice-cold panic gripping her as the artificial lighting turned an angry shade of red. Time slowed and she reeled in a frantic attempt to sprint for the exit, only to be met by the dull thud of the hydraulic safety hatch closing and hissing as it compressed, sealing off her only means of escape. She veered instantly, trying to dash for the power cable and rip it free, but the Gs were already rising and she didn't even take a full stride before the force gripped her, viciously dragging her down with only inactive combat drones looking on as her slight frame was flattened against the metal floor...

'Weathered" by Creed

Next Chapter: ???

I've been wanting to do a cliffy for a while now and here it is :-) Yeah, I know I'm evil, hence the penname, but I promise I'll do my best to get the next instalment out as soon as humanly possible -- Just for the record, Yamcha **dumped** Bulma in chpater8 already so he did not **cheat** on her. I know the poor guy wasn't exactly portrayed in the most flattering light in this chapter, but please keep in mind that this was told from Bulma and Veggie's perspectives. I'm really trying to be fair to the former bandit, but I've never heard anyone go "oh, my feelings are hurt and all, but I'm sure he had a good reason to do what he did" right after ending a long-term relationship Oo

Thanks for reading and please, **please**, **please** don't forget to review!


	11. NEW HORIZONS

Thanks to Meliza Mac, Shen Long and Kyra Fable for making this chapter presentable. To those who are following this ficy I just wanna say that I'm truly sorry for taking so long with this instalment, especially considering where the last one left off Thanks for your patients everyone, and Spinni especially -- this one's for you girl! Real life has been a complete bitch these last few months, but hopefully things will quiet down in the final quarter of the year, i.e. giving me more time to write, but I don't wanna make promises I can't keep. At the very least, this chapter is chockfull of B/V goodness and hopefully it will make up a teensy weency bit for the long wait Oo Enjoy!

**ACCIDENTAL REDEMPTION**

**By Evil Saint**

**XI. NEW HORIZON**

--Wake me up inside

Call my name and save me from the dark

Bid my blood to run

Before I come undone

Save me from the nothing I've become

Vegeta had taken a vigil on the balcony he shared with his hostess, sitting on the concrete side barrier with his arms crossed and his back propped against the wall. He'd tried to watch television as Bulma suggested -- merely for the lack of anything more appealing with which to occupy his time. The device had been of some use in broadening his understanding of the human ways when he'd first moved in with the Briefs, but he'd never found the broadcasted spectacles particularly entertaining and the current programmes were almost painfully trite. He'd grown bored after only a few minutes' worth of channel surfing and decided to follow the progress with the pod's repairs instead, bringing him to his present perch.

Normally such vapidity would've eaten away at the edgy warrior, but the sights and scents of early autumn lulled his demons, the near midday sun shining with an effervescence that even the viscous oblivion of his past could not quell and for once he actually found the inactivity somewhat relaxing. Tilting his head back to rest against the sloping dome the prince gazed lazily up at the blue cupola of Earth's heaven, tinted white with swirls of fleece clouds, looking as though they'd been painted there by an artist's brush. Reflected light brightened the azure expanse to a paler shade of aquamarine as it touched the horizon, ruffling like iridescent cloth in the heated air rising from the gleaming metropolis in the distance. A corner of his mouth twitched briefly upward with the stirring of déjà vu, unearthing a long buried memory of him admiring a strikingly similar scene as a young boy on his home planet. The balcony adjacent to his rooms in the palace had given him a spectacular view of Planet Vegeta's own capitol, the nerve centre of the Saiyan Empire, and he was quite fond of watching the sanguine brilliance of the twin suns engulf the city at the end of the day between cleaning up from training and sitting down to dinner with his father and a few favoured consorts.

The habit was just another of many things he'd lost after his homeworld's demise. He had nary a minute to spare for such frivolities while Frieza drew breath; not that the warships, spacepods or the numerous barracks' he'd called home ever afforded a notice worthy view. It wasn't something he'd consciously missed until that instant, but then, such redundant little epiphanies had been assailing him rather frequently since coming to Earth.

While under the Iceling's rule, he'd spent his every waking moment streamlining his awareness, tuning out everything except what was needed to ensure his next breath, but things were different now. He was free and living in lavish comfort compared to what he was used to, the perpetual threat of death no longer looming over his head. The cold, calculating, single-minded focus that had sustained him for so long had become all but obsolete here on this secluded blue sphere and without the distractions of bloodshed and mayhem to occupy his mind, his thoughts were straying down avenues he'd never cared to explore. He had no regrets of course -- if he'd done anything differently, he wouldn't have lived to see the end of the reptile's reign -- but still he caught himself wondering about his past and daring to imagine what his present would've been had his life not been torn asunder on a tyrant's whim. It wasn't so much the prestige of being king or the power of ruling an empire that intrigued him, but the thought of actually fitting in somewhere; of again experiencing the almost forgotten sense of belonging he'd known only fleetingly on the planet of his birth...

Vegeta's pensive reflection was cut short as sudden activity from the GT-pod caught his attention. The buzz of the newly activated generator drifted up from the lawn and looking down he could make out the flickering of incandescent light inside the structure.

"_At least she's got the power back on._" He thought with a gleeful grin softening the hard frown his previous train of thought had settled on his lips. He could still feel the effects of the last few nights' insomnia, but the pod's brief abeyance had provided him with some much-needed rest and he was quite eager to get on with his training. He had yet to change into workout clothes though, and hopped off the barrier onto the balcony floor, feeling the sun's rays caress his back as he turned toward his room to do just that. He lingered a minute longer, revelling in the gentle warmth seeping through his shirt as he stretched to realign his vertebrae, yawning with glinting ivory fangs and tail falling free from beneath his T-shirt to curl lethargically behind him. Rubbing a last kink from his neck, he started towards the door, but froze mid-stride as the hiss of the sealing hatchway unexpectedly sliced the air, followed by the distinctive whir of the gravity simulator's activation sequence. Bemusement creased the Saiyan's brow as his head whipped around to investigate and he veered completely upon seeing the bright red light streaking from the portholes onto the grass.

"What the f...?!" The gravity chamber was indeed in use, but that didn't make any sense. The simulation could only be activated from within as a safety precaution and if he was out here then how...?

Intuitively, Vegeta scanned for his housemate's energy signature and his entire body went rigid with quailing shock as he got a lock on her... **inside the pod!**

--------------

Searing terror exploded in Bulma's chest, coursing hotly though her veins as her body weight climbed exponentially with each roll of the red numbers on the indicator screen, systematically crushing her beneath the weight of her own flesh. The gravity was rising rapidly -- two, three Gs per second -- and in the blink of an eye it had spiked to seven times the norm, plastering her to the floor and making it difficult to draw suddenly heavy air molecules into her lungs. The strain increased with every millisecond that ticked by, transforming her body into a throbbing heap of agony, and at 12 Gs the world turned black as her eyes popped under the immense pressure. She would have screamed if she wasn't completely unable to breathe, feeling skin tear and tendons stretch, her flesh threatening to peel from her bones as she was drawn down with a G-force of 16. At 18 Gs she felt the pull of unconsciousness railing her in as her organs started to rupture, the blood being drawn into her swelling limbs... and then she knew no more...

--------------

The Saiyan reacted impetuously and leapt over the ledge, bolting to the craft with a burst of energy that shattered every window on the western side of the house, heading straight for the outer panel behind which the power generators were located. Though it was possible to shut the gravity down from the outside -- another safety measure, in case Vegeta got hurt and someone needed to get to him -- there was no time to fiddle with keypads and deactivation codes as Bulma's energy dimmed with each passing instant. Vegeta ripped the metal sheet away with lightening speed, oblivious to the nuts, bolts and screws flying like stray bullets in every direction and a split-second later, the machine's entire power supply had been reduced to hissing globs of molten metal and crackling wires, immediately shutting down all functions.

Only a few seconds had passed since the pod had stirred to life. The simulator couldn't have powered up by much, but humans were infinitely fragile and the woman especially so. Quickly, Vegeta reached for Bulma's life-force again and found it flickering like a candle in the wind. Without hesitation he fired a second blast at the ruined generators to breach the hull and shot through the gaping hole into the pod, barely mindful of the glowing titanium dripping precariously from the rim.

He saw her lying prone and still near the centre controls with the familiar smell of adrenaline laced blood permeating the air and his heart froze momentarily before gearing into overdrive, pounding as though it would burst from his chest if he ventured any closer. The prince growled fiercely, wrenching himself from the absurd inertia and darted toward her, kneeling at her side. Her face and neck were marred with ugly purple bruises from ruptured capillaries, her expression a contorted mask of pain. Blood streamed unchecked from her sunken eye sockets as well as her nose and lips and the way she took in air in ragged, shallow gulps belied a great deal of internal tissue damage; possibly broken ribs as well. Her overalls were ripped in places and several fasteners had caved under the force to expose the white tank top she wore underneath, dyed red from the gashes her bra had cut into her flesh. Her arms and legs were still mostly concealed by the bright yellow garment, but steadily expanding dark patches stained the material as blood flowed freely from the wounds beneath, pooling gruesomely around her form.

Was she truly that frail; that easy to harm? How was it possible for a body so delicate to contain a spirit as indomitable as hers?

"Stupid, reckless weakling." Vegeta scolded the unconscious female under his breath, gathering a tiny amount of ki in his index finger and swiftly, but carefully cut away the rest of her overalls to assess her wounds. He was angry with both her and himself for their equal shares of blame in this disaster. He never should've left her alone and she shouldn't have turned the damnable machine on without him present. His pride insisted that his ire was due to the pod's destruction and the inevitable loss of training time the repairs would entail; that his concern for the bitch on the floor stemmed from his need for her mechanical expertise and nothing more, but his arrogance was becoming less convincing by the second as the full extent of her injuries became apparent. The damage to her body was severe -- more so than he'd ever thought possible for such a small increase in gravity to cause -- and his nerves grew taut as unequivocal fear for her life ensnared him in its chilling tentacles.

The cold-blooded killer in him surged forth defensively, calling on vision of the scores of beings that had lain at his feet throughout his purging years, their faces petrified in frightened horror as the ground gorged on their blood. He'd felt no anguish for them and by the Legendary, the Earthling was no different!

"_But why then, Prince Vegeta, does the though of her death make your chest ache and your insides twist as though you're going to be sick?_" challenged an annoying little voice inside his head -- sounding precariously like the wench on the floor.

Vegeta gnashed his teeth when his ego remained disturbingly quiet at the taunt and he abruptly shoved all ambivalence aside, forcing himself to concentrate on saving the woman instead. His motives for doing so would have to be stowed for later scrutiny as he wracked his brain to determine what the most efficient course of action would be. To a human, the obvious answer would've been to call an ambulance, but Vegeta was an alien warrior, raised on the theatres of war. When he was wounded in battle he had only his comrades to rely on for help, unless they too were injured, and more often than not, his own mulish determination was all that pulled him through.

The woman was no warrior though, and in Vegeta's mind, he was the only thing standing between Bulma and certain death. The most urgent problem that needed to be addressed was the scarlet rivers streaming steadily from her rent flesh. If the blood loss wasn't staunched fast she would go into shock and then all would be lost. It was too risky to move her, but the small medicine cabinet in the pod's restroom contained only basic supplies which would be of little help in the current crisis. The more potent treatments were stored in his bathroom in the house and so with a greater feat of will than he would've liked, Vegeta pried himself away from her, retracing his steps to the balcony and rushed to the washroom while mentally compiling a list of everything he'd need to stabilise the woman.

Within a few seconds of leaving Bulma's side, Vegeta was rifling through the built-in medicine locker, all the while keeping a tab on her dwindling energy signature and struggling to hold his rising panic under control. Items fell in his hasty search, and if not for the plummeting of various bottles of painkillers, he wouldn't have noticed the small brown satchel, looking garishly out of place among the pristine white containers and sterile wrappings of the other medication.

He stilled upon noticing the pouch and had to blink twice to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. He had seen those healing seeds of Kakkarot's stored in similar packaging, but not in all the months he'd been training himself senseless had there ever been any at the mansion to aid his recovery. Could it be that the woman had recently acquired some without telling him?

He would've been cross with her if he wasn't so desperate for a way to keep her alive, but then again, such strokes of good fortune were contrary to everything life had taught him and it felt almost surreal as he watched himself reach for the tiny purse. His fingers fumbled to undo the knot that sealed the opening, pulling the drawstring to inspect the contents and...

"_Thank Kami!_" The warrior released a breath he hadn't been aware of holding, relief washing over him in glorious, golden waves as his fist tightened around soft leather and he spun on a dime, dashing back to the gravity pod to save his hostess' life.

--------------

A wry, burning tang in her mouth and a flush of heat in her gut were the first sensations to greet Bulma as awareness returned in a dizzying whirl. Her back arched reflexively as spasms wracked her form, forcing the blood from her air passages in a harsh, choking heave to clear the way for much needed oxygen. She lay back, panting as the seizure calmed. Her eyelids retracted of their own accord and she found herself staring blearily up at the spiky haired, wide-eyed visage of her housemate, hovering mere centimetres from her own. For a split second she thought he looked...worried, but her newly regenerated pupils stung with the sudden invasion of light, forcing her to blink and when she looked again his features held only their usual austerity.

He sat back on his heels as she awoke, giving her some breathing space and Bulma rose up as well; her head spinning as the memories of the past few minutes came crowding back to her. She reached up with a quivering hand to feel her hair matted against her scalp, her face sticky with clotting plasma. More than a little shaken, her gaze traversed the length of her torso and she gasped upon taking in the large quantity of blood she was drenched in. Her overalls lay around her in blackened, crusty rags while her drying shorts had turned to sandpaper against her thighs. Her shirt clung uncomfortably to her breasts and... Wait a second!

"Hey, what the hell did you do with my bra, you pervert?!" Bulma snapped, her voice shrill from lingering fright and mortification at the thought of Vegeta having tampered with her underwear while she was knocked out. The Saiyan flinched at her tone, evidently not having expected her to screech at him.

"It was imbedded in your chest, idiot. I didn't feel like listening to your insufferable bitching if it was made a permanent part of your anatomy so I removed it before giving you that seed of Kakkarot's. Maybe I should've left it on tough, 'cause anything would've been better than an eyeful of your hideous tits!" He barked with exaggerated animosity, and shot to his feet, stalking into the pod's living quarters.

Fear was not an emotion that either of them handled well. Rage was far more comfortable and easier to express, and though Bulma was momentarily taken aback by his crudeness, she recovered swiftly as her own temper flared to life.

"Yeah? Go fuck yourself, Your Assholeship! You're just bitter 'cause the only way you'll ever get a woman naked on this planet is if she's unconscious... or dead!" She retaliated with her own brand of waspish profanity, shedding the remnants of her overalls and rose to stand on shaky legs. It was only then that she noted the abnormal abundance of light streaming into the ship and she turned to see the hole Vegeta had blasted in the side of the pod. She stared at the open maw, feeling the adrenaline induced rage clear from her mind like mist from the ocean at sunrise and nearly sank to her knees as she realised just how great a debt she owed to the irascible warrior.

If it weren't for Vegeta she'd be dead at that moment.

He'd destroyed the power generators and melted the hull to get to her; he'd found her a senzu bean and even made sure that she wouldn't suffer complications after recovery.

"_And you thanked him by insulting both his honour and his pride. Way to go Bulma._" She bit down on her bottom lip and turned her remorseful gaze toward the pod's living quarters, the sounds of running water hitting the sink indicating that the Saiyan was busy washing up. She absently palmed her hardening hair as she deliberated between going forward to the house for a shower or backward into the small compartment to properly thank her rescuer. The metallic odour of blood was nauseating and she was keen to wash away the ghastly evidence of her trauma, but after a moment's consideration Bulma realised that, shaky as things already were between her and Vegeta, this might well be her only chance to clear the air between them. She wasn't about to waste it and so with a stifled sigh, she wheeled around and staggered toward the restroom to make amends.

Vegeta was standing at the basin with his back to the world, pointedly ignoring her as she appeared in the portal separating the tiny bathroom from the cramped living area. He was naked from the waist up and Bulma couldn't help but notice how his perfectly defined muscles bulged and flexed beneath his caramel skin, harmonising fluently with his movements as he washed. His blood stained shirt lay in a discarded bundle on the open shower's floor and Bulma knew that it was probably ruined. It was a shame, though. He'd looked damn good in it, but then, she had yet to find an outfit that didn't flatter the prince's magnificent physique.

"You blasted your pod to rescue me." She observed gingerly in hopes of coaxing a reply from her stoic saviour, clutching her elbows self-consciously as she awaited his response. From Vegeta's tense bearing it seemed that he was likely to throttle her if she came within grabbing distance, but a growing irrational part of her yearned to collapse against his chest as the doorframe steadied her against a mild spell of vertigo. The senzu may have regenerated her body in mere seconds, but her mind would take longer to recover and the stress of her ordeal was still wreaking havoc on her psyche.

"Clearly, you'd already fucked it up beyond repair." Vegeta grumbled dryly, still cleansing himself and refusing to face her.

Bulma's eyes narrowed at his accusing words. A twinge of guilt in her belly spurred the habitual impulse to challenge him, but she bit the inside of her cheek and kept quiet. She didn't have the gall to cross him; not after what he'd done for her. Besides, even getting accosted was preferable to being alone -- with nothing to distract her from the fact that she'd almost been pulverised by her own father's invention. She just wished her stupid brain would stop dredging up snippets from the reoccurring dream she'd had of the Saiyan saving her from a watery grave. She used to think the nightmare was harrowing but getting up close and personal with one's own mortality was far worse in actual fact than anything her vivid imagination had been able to conjure.

If Vegeta hadn't been there...

"What happened, Woman?" The gruff inquiry pulled her from her morbid thoughts and Bulma tore her eyes away from a spot on the floor to look at him, blinking owlishly. He was facing her now with his hands braced on the sink, tail sweeping as he stared her down with the same hawk-like intensity he always held when questioning her. His unwavering, black regard would've sent most grown men to their knees, but Bulma was quite accustomed to it and it wasn't his stare that bothered her. It was perfectly reasonable for him to want answers as to why he had to blow his most coveted possession to shit, but it was the pitch of his voice that caught her off guard. She'd expected him to be lived, to shout and scream and curse at her for what she'd cost him, but instead there was a strange calmness to his tone; not the usual cold edge of barely bridled temper she knew only too well, but an almost softening of his lilt that seemed completely out of place in the current setting.

"It was a software error. I fixed all the busted parts in the control unit, but when I turned on the computer the screen went crazy and the next the next thing I know I'm becoming part of the décor... I'm sorry... I... I shouldn't have... I'm sorry..." Her voice shrank and the words became lodged in her throat as all the trials and tribulations of the past months seemed to unify in that moment, crashing down on her in a tidal wave of adversity that threatened to drown her. It wasn't enough for alien tyrants to want to destroy her planet or her childhood sweetheart to leave her for a tumble in the sheets with a brain-dead nympho. No, she had to get damn near crushed to death in her own backyard for good measure and to top it all off, the nearest person that even knew about all her misery was a sociopathic monkey-boy who, in all likelihood, cared more about getting a piece-of-crap machinery fixed than whether she lived or died!

A wayward crystalline droplet slid from the corner of her eye, trailed along the side of her nose, streaked through a red smear on her cheek and finally disappeared somewhere along the curve of her jaw as her body began to tremble. The first in a series of dry sobs tore through her weary form and she turned away from the Saiyan's merciless appraisal, resting her back against the opposite side of the bulkhead and sagged to the floor as she allowed her tears to fall freely. She knew she was making a complete fool of herself, but at that point she was just too drained to mind.

Vegeta stood frozen as he stared at the empty doorway in bewilderment, grimacing at the soft whimpers emanating from the other side of the wall. He'd been wary of how the woman's fragile human psyche would handle an experience as she'd just endured, but when she'd insulted him after waking up he'd been somewhat relieved before outrage set in, thinking that maybe she was alright. Clearly, he'd been mistaken. What he should do about it though, was an open question. He had half a mind to leave her in the craft to sob it out on her own, and head to his mountain for some intensive meditation until the woman had regained enough of her faculties to be useful again. It was a sound plan, but his legs didn't seem willing to follow his brain's commands to walk out on her. A bizarre protective impulse -- the very same that wanted him to kill her weakling ex-mate for causing her grief and that had lead him to obliterate the pod without a second thought -- had taken hold of him and was keeping him rooted to the spot. She'd seemed so vulnerable leaning against the entrance, still coated in the vestiges of her wounds; why she hadn't gone to her room to bathe was beyond him, but knowing her, she was probably anxious to get clean and perhaps washing up would calm her down a little. It was worth a try on the off chance that she'd cease her incessant snivelling and besides, he could always change his mind and leave if she didn't shut up.

Vegeta picked up the moistened hand towel he'd used to wipe her blood off himself and rinsed it thoroughly until the crimson stains were reduced to faint pink imprints in the otherwise beige fabric. When the terrycloth had regained most of its original colour, he wrung it out and walked though the doorway to find her sitting with her back against the bedroom wall, her legs drawn up as she bawled pathetically into her knees. The prince did his best to summon some disgust at her display, but it was half-hearted as images of his own ignominy preceding his death on Namek flashed though his mind.

She didn't appear to notice him as he crouched beside her with his natural stealth, peering at her shaking form and marvelling inwardly at how small she seemed right then. He reached out a hand to get her attention, hesitated, then gathered his courage and placed it gently on her shoulder. She started at the contact and her sobbing quieted momentarily as her head whipped up to look at him, her wide jewel-coloured eyes contrasting starkly with the caking blood covering most of her face. He held the cloth in front of him like a flag of surrender, feeling horribly self-conscious and gestured for her to take it. Bulma's eyes lowered swiftly to his offering before darting incredulously back to his. She looked puzzled as if the notion of him showing her the simple courtesy of providing something to clean herself with was too unfathomable for her genius brain to compute. His eyes narrowed in annoyance at her inaction and before he could stop to reconsider, he brought the cool material to her face, more roughly than he'd intended, but not so as to cause her pain. He held it still against her skin, giving her a chance to object if she chose. She blinked a few times in discomposure, but didn't pull away and after a moment he began moving the towel in tiny circles against her porcelain skin, wiping the blackening ooze from her features with a gentility that surprised them both.

Vegeta had no explanation for his actions. All he knew was that he wanted to be there for her, as she had been there for him on more occasions than he liked to remember. Each time he'd been injured she was there, lashing him with that razor sharp tongue of hers for his lack of prudence, though her harsh words were always contradicted by the care and tenderness she put into cleaning and dressing his wounds. It was a strange feeling, tending to another creature for the simple sake of providing comfort. Strange, but not bad...

There had been occasions where he'd pulled Raditz and Nappa from the battlefield to prolong their pointless existences, but his motives were self-serving. He couldn't be a commander if he had no crew and if his men were to perish, Frieza would likely toss him in with the Ginyu or Kuui's squad in which case he'd be the one following orders and he couldn't allow that. However, as he sat with this woman, there was nothing to gain from carefully wiping blood and tears from her face, and yet he stayed for no reason other than seeing her features relax under his touch.

He continued cleaning her until the towel had taken on a dappled crimson pattern and although she hadn't stopped crying entirely, her sobs had quieted considerably and weren't nearly as irritating as before. At long last he brought the towel away from her face and leaned back against the bulkhead with Bulma following suit.

The silence became loaded after a moment and Vegeta got to his feet, in sudden need of an escape and returned to the bathroom under the guise of rinsing the rag again. His mind and heart were engaged in bloody warfare as he tried to make sense of his muddled emotions. His own behaviour was confusing him and there were few things he hated more than being confused. He dropped the towel in the sink with a slosh and stared hard at his reflection in the small mirror above the basin as if his reflected self held the solutions to all his troubles and would provide them if he could merely stare the bastard down.

"V-Vegeta..."

The Saiyan glanced over his shoulder to see Bulma darkening the doorway at his back, looking at him with an expression he'd never seen on her face before. She peered studiously at him, seemingly searching his countenance with an urgency that bordered on desperation. His brow creased slightly in puzzlement and he turned to face her, studying her in return and was confounded to see standing tears in her eyes. His scowl deepened, wondering what could possibly have upset her again, when she let out a small, whimpering sniffle -- the only warning he got before she flung herself against his chest, clinging to his shoulders as if her life depended on it.

Galvanised by some unknown instinct, the prince's right arm shot around her waist as she collided with his torso and so there he stood, stupefied at the unexpected turn of events. He would've been furious; would've thrown her off and berated her for her impertinence had he been able to think beyond the exquisite feel of her body's every soft curve and dip moulding against his own. Her scent flooded his airways, filling his lungs and infusing with his blood like a potent incendiary, igniting swirls of fire in his veins. Reason was shrieking at him to shove her aside and get as far away from her as his energy would take him, but he couldn't bring himself to break the delectable contact between their bodies as all his unsatisfied ruts of the past year came back to haunt him.

His heart throbbed in his ears, leaving him somewhat light-headed as blood drained from his cerebrum in a swift southward surge. He felt his tail bristle in excitement and quickly anchored it firmly around his calf before it could wander, the pressure sending sharp prickles of pleasure racing up his spine and nearly biting his tongue in half with the effort of keeping quiet.

He had never been so close to her for a purpose other than intimidation before and now he knew why his survival instincts had always urged him to keep her at a distance. Her proximity was driving him insane. It boggled the mind: the perfection with which this alien's body fit to his and if that wasn't trying enough on his control, the palpable scent of her bloodied clothes called to savage beast within him -- an aphrodisiac in its finest form, heightening his attraction tenfold.

To his horror, Vegeta found himself fighting a losing battle against his body's insistent demands that he throw her to the floor and apply a far more exhilarating technique to elevate her spirits. Mercifully though, the human was fully engrossed in her bawling and she didn't appear to notice his rising excitement. He thanked Kami for the fact that he was wearing a loose pair of jeans in place of formfitting training shorts and hastily endeavoured to focus on her flaws, on her weakling friends and everything else there was to loath about her -- anything that could help quell his growing desire...

After what seemed like aeons, Bulma finally stopped trembling and lifted her face from Vegeta's chest to look into the smouldering caverns of his eyes. He looked down at her hesitantly and was indeed grateful when he established that she was no longer crying. He managed to gather enough composure to pry himself away from her luscious flesh, praying that she'd remain ignorant of the faint blush staining his face -- not to mention the cause, bulging further down on his anatomy. He held her steady at arms length and searched her cerulean eyes until he was certain that the coast was clear on all accounts. He was just about to let out a breath of relief when she did something completely unexpected and far worse than her asinine sobbing... She confided in him...

"Oh Kami, Vegeta... --sob_--_... what am I going to do? I can't go on like this ... --sob--... I've been with Yamcha... --sob--... since I was only a kid. I don't know how... --sob_--_... to be without him anymore..."

Her words hit him like a bucket of ice water, callously freezing his body form the inside out. He could hardly believe what he was hearing and his upper lip drew back in a silent snarl as her words sank in. She'd almost lost her life; he'd lost his pod and Kami knew how many training hours to save her, hell he'd even lowered himself to console her, and she was still fixating on that guileless fornicator?!

"Shut up Woman!" He hissed past bared canines, his tail snapping about erratically as bitter fury coursed through him, washing away the trickle of compassion that had wound its way into his heart.

"... You sicken me, you know that?! How can you allow that worthless bastard's rejection to reduce you to **this**?! You say you can't live without him, but you haven't even tried!" He spat -- almost yelled -- mere centimetres from her face as he pinned her with the most baleful stare he could muster.

"I... I don't know what to do." She squeaked, startled by the oblique reprimand. She'd all but forgotten who she was dealing with as he washed her with the tenderness of a long time lover.

"Bathe. Eat. For Kami's sake, sleep! Then maybe you could start thinking about actually delivering on those drones you promised me over a month ago! But first you will see to it that this piece of shit gets back in working order..." He growled, gesturing at the ship with a jerk of his head and a roll of his eyes "... I don't care how you accomplish it, but you will have it done **before** I return. You have until nightfall." He ordered heartlessly and stalked past her to the door of the small compartment, his tone stark with an unvoiced "or else" that Bulma had no desire to explore. Cautiously, she followed his movements in her peripheral vision, tracking him as he marched determinedly out the open doorway, but he didn't leave immediately as she thought he would. Instead, he came to a stop just beyond the portal with his back to her, his thick biceps bulging with the flexing of his fists at his sides, as if he was unsure of his next move.

"You don't need him, Woman. You are stronger than that." The words were spoken as a command, yet so low that Bulma had to strain her ears to hear him. She couldn't see the expression he wore, but his tone was uncharacteristically earnest, and she felt something warm kindle in the cooled pyres of her heart.

"Where're you going?" She asked quickly as he moved to leave, wishing wistfully that he would return and hold her again.

"To kill something." He answered quietly, yet with an underlying malice that stopped her from questioning him further. His footsteps fell soundlessly over the smooth floor and she felt his energy abandon her as he walked away. When he was truly gone, she breathed deeply and left the pod as well to do as the prince had instructed.

--------------

"_What a day..._" The young heiress thought with a travesty of a grin playing on her lips, her inner voice jaded with fatigue and a hint of grim awe as she dressed after her third shower in twenty-four hours. She hadn't really needed this last one, but the coppery scent of blood still haunted her and though the warm water and floral aroma of her expensive body oils did little to vanquish the phantasmal odour from her senses it did help to relieve some of the tension from her overstrained body. Hers had always been a charmed life. She was used to coping with bizarre ordeals but this day's happenings had been a little too intense, even for her, and she just wanted it to be over.

The last of the battalion of contractors she'd hired to replace the broken windows were finishing up downstairs and though it took some doing, she'd managed to secure a new GT-pod form Capsule Corp's high security storage vault in the city. She'd had a hell of a time explaining what had happened to the previous ship and, more importantly, why it was so urgent for her to replace it, but Bulma Briefs did not take "no" for an answer and with her copious amounts of natural charm -- and a few choice threats when that didn't work -- she'd gotten what she wanted in the end. The broken pod had been packed up in a crate, the encapsulation mechanism not having survived the Saiyan's assault, and was now sitting in her work shed awaiting repairs, while a brand spanking new ship had taken up residence on the lawn, ready for Vegeta's use.

Well, **almost** ready...

Five gravity pods had been built from Dr. Briefs' original design after the first was destroyed on Namek; two of which were still encapsulated in the CC vault and one having been sold to the American government for a nice chunk-a-change out of Uncle Sam's wallet. Vegeta's original pod had been the only one modified for such extreme gravitational pulls however, and the craft currently crowding the garden only went up to the original max setting of 100 Gs. It was better than nothing, but Bulma knew all too well that the self-centred Saiyan wouldn't see it that way. The gold, red and orange hues of sunset had already made way for the deep violet shroud of nightfall and Bulma was surprised -- albeit grateful -- that the prince hadn't yet burst into her room to throw a world-class hissy fit over the new pod's inadequacy. She knew it was only a matter of time though, and hoping to savour what little calm remained before the storm, she switched off the lights in her room, not wanting to spoil the dark tranquillity of the night's descent and ventured onto her balcony to appreciate the view, thankful that she was able to enjoy anything at all that day.

The tiles were cool beneath her bare feet as she felt her way to the railing, leaning on it with folded arms as her eyes instinctively skimmed the inky horizon, seeking the moon and a slight sense of sadness touched her heart as she remembered that it was no longer there. Dusk had become that much more obscure without the satellite's glow to temper the darkness. There were few electric light sources on this side of the mansion, the labs and work rooms being on the opposite end of the compound to ensure that the industrial bustle didn't reach the Briefs' living quarters and the lights of the Western Capitol were nothing but a faint glimmer along the curve of the Earth. The awakening stars were still low in the sky and without the GT-pod's usual red illumination rising from the yard it took longer than usual for her eyes to become accustomed to the near pitch blackness covering the estate.

A fragrant evening breeze sailed trough her semi-wet tresses and she inhaled deeply, feeling her heart swell with elation at being alive. She knew the Dragonballs could've brought her back if Vegeta hadn't made it in time, but like any mortal creature, the instinctive need to preserve her own existence was terribly disconcerted at the recollection of her brush with death -- even if it would've been temporary. As she waited for her pupils to adjust, Bulma allowed her mind to sort through the day's events, pausing to consider the Saiyan's uncharacteristic behaviour.

He'd been so... dared she even think it... sweet to her; in his own stringent, hard-handed way of course, but there was no better word to describe his conduct. Even his chastisement had held no real cruelty; only brutal honesty.

And he'd called her strong.

It was silly really, how much his terse encouragement had meant to her, but it had. It was as though the mere fact that the words were spoken from his lips had made them true somehow. Coming from him, there was no better compliment, and Kami knew, he wouldn't have said it if he didn't believe it himself. She was still embarrassed about her outburst, but she did feel better than she had in weeks. Having someone to talk to about her heartache had done her a lot of good; even if it was Vegeta and the whole conversation was made up of about five coherent sentences.

She really had to make a point of getting more girlfriends. Krillin and Goku were great and all, but they were useless when it came to things like romance and mending broken hearts. And she didn't want to call her parents either. They'd seen the tabloids of course -- hell, NASA was probably broadcasting the news of her wrecked relationship into outer space by now! Her mother had called the very day after the fact and offered to fly home immediately to provide moral support, but Bulma declined, not yet up to facing the blonde's inevitable attempts at either getting her back together with Yamcha or setting her up with a string of her socialite friends' unmarriageable mamma's boys. Her dad, on the other hand, usually refrained from interfering in her private affairs, but she could tell that his opinion of Yamcha had diminished severely after their previous parting and Kasumi's abrupt transfer to the Melbourne office left no doubt that Dr. Briefs knew about Yamcha's tryst with her. Plus he was a scientist, a man of facts, and despite having the best intentions, he had a hard time making heads or tails of anything that couldn't be quantified in numbers or recorded on a chart. He'd sent her an email -- accompanied by a lab report and a list of intricate chemistry equations that the new science division was struggling with -- offering some clichéd sympathies, telling her that she was better off and that was the end of it as far as he was concerned...

The darkness was beginning to take shape and lost to her idle pondering, Bulma's gaze crept absently across the gardens, taking in the scenery as best she could. The trees her father had planted when she was little, green and picturesque in the sunlight, took on an eerie vibe in the night time scene and she turned her attention toward the lawn below her room instead. Her eyes continued to wander, finding the new spacepod and automatically scaled its smooth lines, as yet unmarred by Vegeta's abuse. Her gaze reached the top and she was bluntly wrenched from her reverie at the sight of a darker shadow jutting from the ship's sleek curve. She blinked, squinted and then her mouth fell open as she discerned the unmistakable silhouette perched on the GT's roof.

"_He's back?!_" She exclaimed mentally, scowling ever deeper in confusion. How long had he been sitting there? And why hadn't he confronted her about the simulator? Maybe he hadn't tried it out yet. But knowing him, that would be the first thing he'd do. What the hell was up with him?

Bulma spun around, forgetting her earlier apprehension at facing her temperamental boarder, and marched through her room, heading downstairs and outside via the kitchen to confront the prince.

"_I should just go tell him about the low Gs and get it over with. Then hopefully I can get some sleep._" She rationalised while making her way across the dark lawn, but her true reason for wanting to be within speaking distance of her housemate was not quite as sensible. The feel of her pressed against his hot hard chest, one steely arm encircling her in a hold both gentle and unyielding had been permanently branded into her brain and she'd been dwelling on it all day. Perhaps the fresh shock from her trauma had left her overly vulnerable or maybe the festering emotions of the last couple of weeks were to blame, but in all honesty she'd never felt safer in her entire life. Not even Goku had ever inspired such a sense of security in her as she'd felt while locked in Vegeta's embrace and the sight of him sitting but a few hundred metres from her balcony had stricken her with an overwhelming need to be near him. She knew she didn't stand to gain anything by seeking him out, except maybe his wrath for disturbing him, but against better judgement she couldn't wait until morning to bask in his formidable, yet oddly comforting presence.

She kept expecting to be yelled at as she neared the pod, but the sounds of insects and the rustling of foliage in the warm evening wind were all that broached the quiet. Her features held a resolute expression as she climbed up the maintenance steps welded to the side of craft and as she scaled the crest, she saw Vegeta sitting with his back to her, oblivious to her presence, or more likely just uncaring. Nothing got by him after all.

"Mind if I join you?" Bulma asked as she found her footing, his refusal to acknowledge her urging her to voice her presence and not knowing what else to say. The way he was ignoring her made it quite plain that he **did** mind, but she wouldn't let herself be phased.

"**Yes**," came the snide confirmation. Bulma merely disregarded it and walked over to where Vegeta sat with one leg drawn up against his chest and the other dangling off the sloping contour of the hull. From this distance, she could make out the blue fabric of his training clothes clinging to his lean body, his skin apparently free of any blood or dirt vestigial from his hunt. He must've returned while she was in the shower and cleaned himself off without her notice before coming out here.

"Not training?" She inquired casually when she reached his side. He spared her a sideways glimpse, frowning as she sat down next to him, but didn't instigate any further arguments.

"What's the point? The damned thing only goes up to a hundred."

"Yeah, about that, it's one of Dad's original prototypes. I didn't have time to upgrade it today with having to take care of the damage done to the house, presumably when you rushed to my rescue..." She quipped, continuing quickly before he could take offence "... but before you freak out, I'm taking the rest of the week off to get your training stuff back up and running so don't bitch. I've got an idea for a new simulator that can go up to a 1000 Gs and with some luck I should have that done before the end of next week. Then I won't have to disassemble the entire mainframe every ten seconds when you reach a new level. I can't have you killing yourself if you get too enthusiastic though, so every hundred Gs will be password protected and don't even think about asking me for the codes, 'cause you're not getting them."

Black flames of outrage lighted his eyes, but she held his gaze evenly, making it clear that there was no room for negotiation.

"... What you will be getting though is the first prototype of the new drones to test out. It should be ready tomorrow afternoon at the latest and depending on how it fares I'll have a couple more done by the weekend. I'm sorry they took so long to get done, but... I've been... a little preoccupied lately, as you know..."

Bulma crossed her legs and averted her eyes to skim the scenery, suddenly embarrassed and unable to face him.

"Why are you still here?" He asked after a few minutes' silence, his tone harsh as though she was trespassing and he was delivering a final warning before eviction. Bulma cocked her head to regard him through narrowed eyes, annoyed and a little hurt at his attitude. After everything she'd been through, couldn't he just cut her a **little** slack? Besides, she'd busted her ass to get the damn pod to where it was and she would damn well stay on it if she felt like it! Then she remembered why she had to replace it to begin with and her temper cooled instantaneously. She let her gaze drop into her lap, self-consciously chewing her lower lip as she stared at her fidgeting digits. She didn't have an answer for him. Not a good one anyway, but she liked his close proximity and she didn't want to give it up just yet.

"Well, Vegeta... I just...--sigh--... I just wanna sit with you for a while, alright?"

The Saiyan sniffed at her explanation, but he didn't throw her off the roof either and that was a positive sign as far as Bulma was concerned. They sat in silence for what felt like a long time, following the stars' trek across the night sky, until -- surprisingly enough -- Vegeta's gravelled cadence rumbled through the quiet.

"I take it then that you're finally done with that weakling."

Bulma was slow to face him as she considered his question. Why in the world would he care about her relationship -- or lack thereof -- with Yamcha? He had been quite opinionated on the subject earlier in the day, but that was after she'd all but wrestled it out of him. Usually, he acted as if such things were beneath him and she could hardly believe he'd brought it up on his own.

"Why do you care?" She countered, trying to gauge his expression, but he was still staring out into space, his visage impassive as if carved from stone.

"I don't."

"Then why ask?"

"Your persistent bawling was keeping me awake at night. I think I'm entitled to know if I'm gonna be able to sleep again any time soon." Bulma's eyes widened at his comment. The last thing she'd wanted was for him to know how pathetic she was being. She'd barely heard herself she'd cried so softly, but clearly there was no such thing as privacy when you slept next door to an alien super monkey. She felt her face heat up and was glad that the Saiyan's regard was trained elsewhere, knowing that the darkness wouldn't veil her chagrin if his sight was anywhere near as sharp as his hearing.

"Well you can rest easy..." She replied with a rueful grimace "... I don't have anymore tears to cry for him. I **am** stronger than that. I guess I just needed someone to remind me."

Vegeta only nodded stiffly in response, his eyes still riveted to the starry sky as though trying to shred the cloak of night and look upon what lay beneath.

"How long were you with him?" He asked a few minutes later, just when she was sure he'd said all he was going to. He still wasn't looking at her and his voice was rough as ever, but with the same confusingly gentle undertone he'd used that morning. She looked askance at him, perplexed as to why he'd ask such a question.

"Why?" She countered with more apprehension than intended. He was probably the only person on the planet she couldn't read like an open book and he was being particularly enigmatic this night, setting her nerves on edge.

"Just answer the question."

"Six years, give or take a few months. Happy now?" She stated a little defensively, wondering if he was planning on going anywhere with this.

His jaw tightened as if her answer had offended him somehow.

"You wasted much on him." He observed, his eyes meeting hers briefly, before returning to the stars. Bulma could only blink in response. What was she supposed to say to that? And again, from whence this sudden interest in her personal life? Did he really care, or was he just playing some warped mind game with her to pass the time?

"_What's your case Vegeta?_" She pondered, following his line of vision in an attempt to discern what held him so transfixed, but all she saw was the usual night sky that he had looked upon at the end of every day for nearly two years. Nothing strange. Nothing out of the ordinary. And nothing that remotely served to explain his peculiar behaviour. Finally -- like so many times before -- she gave up on trying to figure him out and concentrated on his words instead.

"_He's right. I did waste a lot on Yamcha, and for what? Just to keep from being alone? Well, fat lot of good it did in the end. _" She thought bitterly and a cynical laugh escaped her lips at the irony of it all. At this Vegeta met her eyes, a curious look on his darkened features. Bulma noticed his confusion at her laughter and smiled sadly.

"I was just thinking about what you said and you're right. I was just so scared of being without him; of being alone. It's just, he's always been there, you know?" She spoke softly, peering into her lap while struggling to swallow the hard lump growing in her throat.

"... But I'll be fine. After all, no one ever **really** died of loneliness." She added as an afterthought, only half aware that she'd spoken aloud. She felt his eyes boring into her and looked up questioningly, finding herself mesmerised by the deep, black pools staring back at her.

"No, you'll just wish you were dead." He rasped after a moment and peered once more into oblivion, his countenance indecipherable.

Bulma was stunned at his plain statement. No scathing remarks; no stinging belittling of her character; not even a comment about humans and their pathetic sentimentality. She could do nothing but gape at the Saiyan in befuddlement, wondering for the umpteenth time what had gotten into him.

Once more she traced his gaze, seeing nothing but darkness littered with pinpricks of white, and then an epiphany hit her like a lightening strike and she suddenly understood why he was peering so intensely into the night sky. He wasn't merely staring into space as she had thought. No, his eyes were purposely wandering the boundaries of the Cosmos in search of a planet that was nowhere to be found.

The realisation made her feel ashamed about complaining to him about her loss, which seemed so trivial when measured against his. She still had her family and all her friends to turn to for comfort. It didn't really matter that she no longer had a boyfriend, because she still had plenty of people she could count on. Vegeta had lost everything and there was hardly anyone left who cared about him. He was **truly** alone.

She wished then that there was something she could say to him; some ancient words of wisdom that would ease his anguish, but of course there were none. No amount of talking could ever erase the horrors he'd endured, the insurmountable losses he'd borne, the pain he must carry with him every single day. True, he'd dealt his share of misery, but he did what he had to, to survive. Had their places been reversed -- loathe as she was to admit it -- Bulma couldn't say with certainty that she would have acted any differently, any better, than he had under circumstances that made her worst nightmares seem downright pleasant in comparison.

The awful realisation made her heart contract with grief for him, bringing tears to her eyes. She turned her face away, not wanting him to see her crying. She knew that his pride would never allow him to accept sympathy from anyone and that her tears -- if he knew who they were for -- would only insult him. She dried her eyes with the back of her hand and took a deep, steadying breath before facing him again, trying to think of something more cheery to discuss.

"So what was it like growing up in a palace?" She asked the first thing that came into her head.

"I wouldn't know. I was two years old when I went to work for Frieza and I didn't spend a lot of time at home after that."

"**You were two?! **And your parents allowed it?! You were just a baby for Kami's sake!" Bulma cried in shocked abhorrence, unable to wrap her mind around the utterly alien notion of sending small children into combat.

"I'm Saiyan, Woman. Don't confuse me with the infants of your feeble kind. I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself at that age." He snapped pridefully, not wanting to explain that his father had in fact been so desperate to retrieve him that the king had ended up sacrificing his entire race in a frantic gambit to save a single boy-child. He could hardly bare the knowledge, let alone speak it aloud. It was for his sake that the Saiyans were dead, and yet a third class imbecile, deemed inferior at birth and discarded into the recesses of space had to satisfy the blood debt owed to the Saiyan legions because their prince, the one they'd all died to save, was too weak to step up. Perhaps it was fortunate that his people were gone and unable to see just what had become of him. Had they lived he'd have been a legend alright; a legendary disgrace...

"Oh right, for a minute there I forgot that Saiyans are just **sooo** superior to humans." Bulma said sarcastically, feigning ignorance to the sudden tensing in his demeanour, as she crossed her arms defiantly under her breasts. The playful challenge in her voice was not lost on Vegeta, distracting him from his damning thoughts, and he felt a smile pull at the corner of his mouth, finding himself unable to resist the bait.

"Yes we are. But don't worry, I'll make sure to remind you every time you forget. After all, I can't expect too much of your primitive little human brain, now can I?" He said smugly, grinning down at her like a muscle-bound Cheshire cat, watching the sequence of emotions playing on her face. First, her finely sculpted blue eyebrows began to twitch reflexively, then her mouth dropped open and she began to sputter in indignant shock. Insulting her ever so renowned genius intellect had always been a sure way to set her off and he had to stop himself from crowing in triumph as she shrieked in outrage, too infuriated to retaliate with a witty comeback of her own. Instead she opted to punch him as hard as she could on the shoulder, hurting only herself as her delicate fist impacted against his rock hard muscle.

"Ow." She wined petulantly, and yanked her hand back to stroke her sore knuckles, glaring at Vegeta with enough venom to take down an elephant.

"Thanks for proving my point." He said silkily, clearly amused as his wolfish grin widened -- if it were possible -- with even more arrogance than before.

"Oh, I hate you!" She spat through clenched teeth, cradling her fist in her lap.

"Ditto." He shot back, with a chuckle; not his customary contemptuous snigger though, but a genuine expression of mirth. It was indeed a strange sound to hear coming from him, but after Bulma overcame her initial shock, she couldn't restrain a giggle of her own. The relaxed ambiance lingered and they easily resumed their old habit of chatting idly about nothing in particular, contentedly admiring the beauty of the resting world.

Time wore on and the breeze became chilly as the day's heat dissipated, trailing its icy fingers up and down Bulma's spine, making her shiver. Her first instinct was to move closer to Vegeta, who seemed completely unaffected by the cold, but she thought better of it and decided to head indoors instead.

"Well, Your Highness, it looks like I'm gonna have to abandon you for now. I'm getting frostbite up here." She said as she rose and stretched her stiff limbs before turning toward the maintenance ladder. She didn't get very far though. She'd barely taken a step when she found herself being swept off her feet and coming to rest against the solid wall of Vegeta's broad chest, supported securely upon thickly muscled arms.

"What the hell are you doing?!" She shouted with a start, automatically throwing her arms around the prince's neck to keep from falling.

"I thought you wanted to go down." Vegeta stated with a shrug and slowly began to drift into the air. Bulma's eyes widened and she tightened her death grip around his neck, enough to throttle him if he were anyone else.

"**Vegeta!**" She squealed with her face buried in the crook of his neck, her panic evident as she clung to him for dear life. Vegeta rolled his eyes in exasperation, irritated with her mistrust as he smoothly descended to the lawn, although his cargo didn't seem to take note. When they touched down, he effortlessly shifted her position to support her with one arm and used the other to loosen her hold around his neck. At this her head snapped up from his shoulder to look pleadingly into his eyes, begging him wordlessly not to drop her.

"Will you relax! We're down." He snarled in annoyance, but lowered her carefully none the less.

"Oh." Bulma replied, blushing furiously in humiliation when she felt the reassuring presence of terra firma beneath her feet. With the threat of a plummeting death averted, her embarrassment was quick to morph into rage and she wasted no time venting her anger upon the presumptuous prince.

"Vegeta, you bastard! What the fuckdid you do that for?! You scared the living daylights out of me!" She screamed, her face now flushed with fury and a thunderstorm of blue flashes erupting in her eyes.

"_Looks like the bitch is back._" Vegeta mused as he studied her with arms crossed over his chest and his head slanted to one side, smirking lopsidedly in satisfaction. That was how he liked her: spirited and fiery, like an exotic cat from the wild; not the subdued, meek little mouse she'd been for the past couple of weeks. He hadn't really planned on sparking her temper, but now that he had, he figured he might as well enjoy it.

"I sure as hell wasn't about to let you climb down on your own wench. Your pathetic energy level and laughable coordination don't mix well with gravity -- as you so effectively proved this morning -- and your inferior human senses are probably useless in the dark. Unfortunately I need your skull in one piece until you've undone the damage you wreaked on my training schedule, but after that you can take a nose dive off that glass tower you claim to work in for all I care." He scoffed with exaggerated condescension, the picture of arrogance incarnate as he stared imperiously down his nose at her.

Vegeta watched the woman with interest, loving how her alabaster skin glowed with ire; the way her eyes snapped viperously as she glared at him. Her full lips peeled back in ferocious snarl that sent his pulse thrumming and then the moment he'd waited for arrived as her sapphire irises darkened to the most exquisite shade of cobalt. In all his years of travel he'd never seen a more divine shade of blue.

"**Aagh!! Vegeta you are such a...**" Bulma bellowed right up to the Saiyan's face, hurting his ears with her shrill pitch, but she stopped mid-sentence, taking a couple of calming breaths as she caught wind of his game. She haughtily shoved her nose in the air before turning her back on him.

"You, Vegeta, are a complete asshole and I will not waste another moment of my precious time with you. Good night." She snipped cheekily over her shoulder, trying her damnedest to appear detached, but Vegeta didn't miss the knowing grin that flickered across her lips as she looked away and sauntered loftily towards the mansion.

"_Good to have you back, Woman_." He conceded only to himself as he stared after her, her swaying derrière presenting an irresistible focal point for his gaze, until she disappeared around a bend. When he was alone, Vegeta glanced up at the glittering velvet of the night sky one last time before heading into the pod to rehearse a few katas before retiring. Another day had come and gone without him achieving his goal, but for once he wasn't tormented by the cold blade of failure twisting in his chest. The feeling he did have was new and strange, but if he was forced to guess at its name, he'd call it something unnervingly close... to happiness.

-- 'Bring me to life' by Evanescence

Next Chapter: Lemonade anyone?

So there you have it guys. Just for the record, I know 18 plus Gs sounds like a lot, but my science major buddies tell me that the human body has been known to withstand up to 22 Gs without going splat, so yeah, there **is** method in the madness after all. I really hope the ending wasn't too sappy, but I figured everyone could do with a break from the ongoing angst

As always, feedback would be very much appreciated. Like someone said, the worst thing you can do to a writer is to ignore them so if you've read this far, you might as well leave a comment -- even if you absolutely hated it. Constructive criticism is always welcome and flames are good for a laugh, so don't hold back --


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